The Forgotten Victor
by The Schwa and The Umlaut
Summary: I thought I could handle this. I knew exactly what would happen to me, and just how it would happen. But this, this I did not expect. I knew I was going to be going back, that I knew, but I did not want this to happen again. I did not expect it, I did not want it, I cannot deal with this. This was not supposed to happen again.
1. Chapter 1

The Forgotten Victor

Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters except Claire Moore, Logan Smith, and all of the other characters that are not in the Hunger Games, the rest belong to Suzanne Collins.**

**Rated M because I tend to swear a lot and I am going to put some graphic violence in here. Yeah it's gonna be fun.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm really excited to write this, and I hope that you are all excited to read it. If there's any suggestions that you have for the story I'd love to hear them, because I have even less ideas than I did for the first one. Please review, follow, favorite, and enjoy! And I promise you that my future chapters will be better, I just needed to set things up.**

The twisted shrieks of agony and the sickening sound of ripping flesh plague my nightmares. I bolt up, covered in a film of cold sweat, screaming. I press the palms of my hands onto my ears in an attempt to block out the noise that is in my own mind.

Logan bursts into the room and pulls me into his lap.

"It's just a dream, nothing is going to hurt you," he whispers into my ear.

"They've gotten worse! Why the fuck are they getting worst!" I yell.

"Shhh, calm down," Logan says. I continue to cry into his shoulder until I calm down.

It's been about six months since I returned home from the Hunger Games. Six months since I killed four people. Six months since I lost my soul mate. Six months since I began pregnant.

Three months ago my nightmares started calming down, but with the dreaded Victory Tour drawing near they have become worse. The Victory Tour requires us to go around all of the Districts and be cheered on by people that want to kill us.

Today, which is the day before the Victory Tour begins; Logan and I have to meet with the rebels. As it turns out, Logan had joined them while I was away at the Games, and I shortly after I returned. Our meetings have become more and more frequent as of late, which hopefully means we're about to do something huge.

Pulling on our jackets, Logan and I walk out to the abandoned warehouse where most of the meetings are held. We are some of the first people to arrive.

Clutching the mug of tea I brought with me I sit down next to one of the Hunger Games' former victors, Finnick Odair.

"Good morning," he says.

"What's so good about it," I retort.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he jokes.

"Someone actually woke up to sound of ripping flesh," I correct morbidly.

"I slept well too, thanks for asking," he smirks.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

"And you're mean in the morning, but I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and blame it on your pregnancy hormones," Finnick replies.

"I may be pregnant, but I have a knife in my boot and I will stab you with it if you don't shut up," I threaten.

"She does, Finnick, be very careful about what you say next," Logan comments as he joins us.

"I think I'll just stop talking," Finnick concludes.

"Smart choice," I agree. In actuality, I like Finnick. He's one of the only people who can make me laugh, and that says a lot. Since most of the rebels are much older than me, Logan, Finnick, and I tend to talk quite a bit. He tends to bring some much needed happiness to the depressing meetings, and though I'd never admit it, his ideas are quite smart.

After a while the other rebels slowly trickle in until they are all here. The leader of our rebel group, Plutarch Heavensbee, walks of in front of the group and begins speaking, "As you all know the Victory Tour is fast approaching, and that will grant us with many opportunities to increase the fire that is igniting in some of the Districts. Claire, there are two Districts that you need to make sure to pay special attention to, and they are District 8 and District 11."

My throat tightens at the mention of District 11. It was the District where my first love, Thresh, came from.

"These Districts are incredibly close to starting an uprising. I'm sure that all that 11 will need is a mention of Thresh and the baby. To be clear I am not saying that we should exploit your situation or your feelings for the fallen tribute, but it could be incredibly helpful to our cause," Plutarch explains. "Now that that's out of the way, we have two more rebels joining our group today; I would like you all to meet Cinna and Cynthia."

Out of the corner comes my old stylist and friend Cynthia, and Cinna, Katniss' stylist. Once she sees me he quickly makes her way over to us, gives me a quick hug, and sits down. Cinna follows and gives everyone a firm handshake.

It's been a while since I've seen either of them. Cynthia looks like the same young woman I knew before, but Cinna looks much older, like something has been draining his energy.

"You must be Logan," Cynthia says and reaches her hand out to him. "Nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," he replies. The rest of the meeting we discuss the upcoming Quarter Quell. Since the plans are not one-hundred percent complete the leaders will not disclose them to us yet, but apparently they are getting very close to making them official.

Once the meeting is over all of us slowly trickle out of the building. The sun has just started to rise as we walk back home. Fresh snow lays untouched on the ground. The cold, crisp air bites at my nose, but I didn't mind. I love the way I can see my breath in the wintery air, it makes me feel like all of my troubles were leaving me with the warm air.

We take our time walking back, stopping at a few of the shops buy breakfast. When we arrive at the Victors' Village our care free morning is shattered. Parked outside of our house are three Capitol cars.

For a moment I try to tell myself that it is just my prep team, but I know they aren't due till tomorrow. The only reason the Capitol cars are here is that I am in trouble. I think of running away, they're still waiting for me if I wanted to I could leave right now. But I know that I have to face them. Running away would make me a coward and that's what they want me to be. I will not let them win.

So holding my head high I walk into my house. I expect Capitol officials to slap handcuffs on me or shoot me, but there are no handcuffs or guns. Instead there is something more terrifying, sitting at my kitchen table, is President Snow.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any characters except for Claire Moore and Logan Smith and the other unrecognizable characters that sprouted from my diseased imagination. The recognizable characters belong to Suzanne Collins.**

**Rated M for swearing and twisted violence in later chapters.**

**You guys are awesome! Just the first chapter and you're already following and reviewing. I'm going to work really, really hard to stay on top of this with my hectic schedule so be thankful and REVIEW! And I'm really lazy so fair warning I didn't check this one for grammar and spelling so if Microsoft Word didn't catch I didn't either.**

"I'm going to be extremely frank with you, so I would appreciate if you did the same," the president speaks calmly.

"Agreed then you don't mind me asking, what the fuck do you do in my house," I snap.

"There's no need to be nasty," he corrects.

"You told me to be frank and I have every intention of being nasty, considering that you broke into my house," I counter.

"Listen, let's just cut to the chase, I know what you did," he states.

"What exactly did I do?" I ask smartly.

"You defied the Capitol when you put those berries into your mouth. You did not have a motive to kills yourself. You did it as an act of rebellion," he says.

"Even if I did, what are you going to do about it?" I inquire. "You're the president you could have had me killed by now."

"Killing the mother of an unborn child, even the people in the Capitol would rebel. I am not an idiot. I am simply telling you that on the Victory Tour you have to be very careful. There is no cure for what you have done in the Districts, now you just have to make sure that it doesn't get any worse," he instructs.

"I have no intention of doing so, _sir_," I respond. "But no matter what I do, you know that it is not just what happened in the arena that has affected the Districts, this has been brewing for quite a while. If you think that anyone can stop what's coming you are wrong."

"Be careful what you say," he stands up and looks down at me.

"I'm being frank, just as you ask me to, now I'm going to tell you again; get the fuck out of here," I demand. With one more threatening look, he and the Capitol attendants leave.

"That was so dangerous, Claire," Logan warns me.

"I know," I say. "I don't know why I did it."

"But did you hear? There are Districts that are really on the edge of rebelling," Logan states.

"I know, this could be great, it could finally be over," I reply.

"It's not going to be that simple," he corrects me.

"I know, it felt amazing."

"I'm worried, this Victory Tour could get all of us into a hell of a lot of trouble," Logan confesses.

"Logan, you must've known the risks when you joined, I did when I joined," I say.

"Of course, I knew, but I joined when you were away, and when one of the last things you told me was that you were going to die," he spits. "I joined to get revenge for you, and now I'm still fighting for you, my sister."

"You don't need to get revenge from me, I never asked for it," I state.

"You didn't need to ask, I did it because you're my best friend and I wasn't going to sit down and watch you die without doing anything!" he shouts.

"I didn't want to live!" I scream. "I wanted to die, I only lived because Thresh made me win! He set everything up for me to win, when I told him I wanted to lay down and die! You saw me, I put myself in danger!"

Lifting up my shirt slightly, I reveal the scar that stretches across my torso, "If I had wanted to win this never would have happened! I never would've lain passed out on a rock for a day if I wanted to live!"

"Claire, don't say that," Logan cries.

"You heard Snow, I am supposed to be frank," I snap and storm upstairs. Slamming my door I grab my sleeve of knife and run out of the house. As I leave I hear Logan calling for me to stay. Ignore him and sprint to the forest. Once I'm inside I keep moving, kicking stones and screaming like a crazy person.

When I tire of walking I yank a knife out of its holster and throw it at a tree. I repeatedly do that until all my energy is gone. I slump down on the ground and lie there. I don't want to move, I just want to disappear. Like many night before I fall asleep in the woods, except this time I'm alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Disclaimer: This story will contain swearing and extreme violence in later chapters.**

**I do not own any of the characters besides Claire Moore, Logan Smith, Cynthia and the other characters that don't already belong to Suzanne Collins. I will be using the lyrics to a song by Priscilla Ahn in this chapter.**

**This chapter was brought to you by the extreme and uncontrollable anger that gripped me while I was reading Veronica Roth's Insurgent. (it's a great book by the way) And I use the song "Dream" by Priscilla Ahn in here because I was too lazy to think up my own lyrics for Claire talent, I think you all should check out the song, it's one of my favorite.**

Anger. It's interesting to me. Sometimes you just get angry and there is no reason why, and you're not actually angry at anyone. It's just pure and raw emotion that pulses through you until you something to expel it.

That's why I through knives. I started throwing for defense, then I through for enjoyment, and now for release. I wake up, feeling sore and stiff, but relaxed. My anger has gone. I have no doubt that it will resurface, but for now it's gone.

I breathe in the wintery air. Last night I didn't even worry about the cold, I just forgot about it. That's another thing about anger; you forget common sense and lose sight of your surroundings. Now I am shivering violently.

Slowly shuffling back to District 12, I remember that today is the first day of the Victory Tour. The sun has already risen, and my prep team in probably already waiting anxiously for me at my house. I laugh at the thought of Logan having to deal with all of them by himself.

Just as I suspected, my prep team is lingering in my house awaiting my return, and getting extremely flustered. As I walk through the door everyone looks at me expecting an explanation.

"I got mad, threw knives, and slept outside," I explain. Hot tea and a blanket are quickly delivered to me so I can start to thaw out. Then my own personal hell begins. I am soaked in hundreds of steaming hot baths; the only appeal of them is that they melt the ice that froze my bones from my night in the snow.

Legs waxed, eyebrows plucked, makeup applied, and thoroughly annoyed I am ready to be dressed. Cynthia enters my bathroom and shoos the others out.

"It's good to see you again," she greets me.

"It's nice to see you too," I reply. "Probably one of the only good things that's happened in a while."

"What happened?"

"Just stress," I sigh.

"It'll get easier," she assures me. "Almost all of the victors feel this way, it's normal. But if want you talk to someone you should call Finnick Odair."

"The victor?" I ask playing ignorant. "Why?"

"You two have quite a lot in common, I would know, he was the first tribute that I designed for," she informs me.

"I'll give it a try sometime, but speaking of design, what am I wearing?" I inquire. Cynthia reaches into her bag and pulls out a grey and black striped sweater and black pants. I inspect myself in the mirror once I'm dressed. Over the few months that I've been slowly reaching a healthy weight, my once hollow cheeks have somewhat filled in. Now I am what I never thought I'd be able to be, beautiful. My long brown hair cascades over my shoulders.

"Is there anything that I should remember to do when they interview me?" I ask Cynthia.

"No, just be yourself," she smiles. "I forgot to ask what your talent is?"

"Singing, it's the only thing I can do without potentially killing someone with a knife," I joke.

"The film crew is probably here by now," she says while we walk downstairs. As it turns out, Cynthia is right. The film crew is not only here, but they have turned my living room into a film studio. Lights are placed at odd angles and several cameras are being set into place. In the middle of all the chaos stands a single, vintage microphone.

After they set me in the right place and make all the final adjustments the room goes silent. I have never sung in front of anyone before, it was always something that I did while fishing or when I was bored. When I was asked to think of a talent it was the first thing that came to mind, I never thought I would be scared to do this.

Taking a few deep breaths I begin. The first note comes out perfectly, and I start to get more comfortable. The song isn't mine; it's one that has always been sung in the Home. It gave us hope. That is the reason I chose this song, everyone is required to watch this, including those who wish to rebel. This song is for them, more than anyone else they need hope. With that thought I let myself get lost in the lyrics.

_I was a little girl alone in my little world who dreamed of a little home for me.__  
__I played pretend between the trees, and fed my houseguests bark and leaves, and laughed in my pretty bed of green.___

_I had a dream__  
__That I could fly from the highest swing.__  
__I had a dream.___

_Long walks in the dark through woods grown behind the park, I asked God who I'm supposed to be.__  
__The stars smiled down on me, God answered in silent reverie. I said a prayer and fell asleep.___

_I had a dream__  
__That I could fly from the highest tree.__  
__I had a dream.___

_Now I'm old and feeling grey. I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave.__  
__I lived it full and I lived it well, there's many tales I've lived to tell. I'm ready now, I'm ready now, I'm ready now to fly from the highest wing.___

_I had a dream_

When I finish the song no one claps at first, but after a few seconds they begin to quietly. It has nothing to do with my singing ability, it's the way the song was created; it leaves the room with a lingering silence that no one wants to break.

After a few quick questions about how I started singing and such I am ushered outside to begin the Victory Tour. I pull my coat around me tight and breathe in the freezing air. I can do this. Giving Logan a quick hug goodbye I walk down my front steps.

As soon as I hit the bottom step Katniss and Peeta emerge from their houses. They run towards each other and fall into the snow, I laugh. Our star-crossed lovers are back, if only everyone else knew what I know. Ever since we returned home I have become a secret keeper for the both of them. Katniss and I have been going into the woods to hunt and I let her rant. I feel bad for the girl, she did not know what she was doing in those Games and she still hasn't the slightest clue what to do now.

Peeta, on the other hand, knew what he was doing; he just didn't know what Katniss was doing. He loved her; it was obvious for anyone to see. But where I was it was almost depressing; sometimes I'd catch him looking at her. He couldn't help himself, despite of how angry he got at her, she still captivated him.

The two pull themselves off the ground and walk towards me, after a couple meaningless hugs the three victors of the 74th Hunger Games board the train.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

**Disclaimer: This story is rated M for swearing a violence in later chapters**

**I do not any characters except for Claire Moore, Logan Smith, Cynthia and the other characters that are currently owned by Suzanne Collins.**

**I'm really happy with how I wrote this chapter and I hope you feel the same. If you have any ideas, no matter how big or small, I would really love to hear them So please review and be honest with me.**

The train hasn't changed since the last time we were here. Without anything to do and no one to really talk to I'm happy that the train ride will only take a few hours. I end up sitting alone on the couch waiting for us to arrive. Katniss and Peeta immediately went into their rooms as soon as the cameras were turned off, leaving me all alone. I'm getting sick of them, I know what they went through, but the least they can do is try to be nice to each other.

As I'm complaining to myself, Cynthia joins me on couch. She smiles at me and asks, "How's the baby?"

"She's fine, but she's due around the time when we come back from the Victory Tour," I answer.

"Let's hope that you get to have her back home," comments Cynthia.

"Yeah, that would be much better than having her in the Capitol," I agree.

"Claire, I know that this is none of my business, but I couldn't help but notice the tension between Katniss and Peeta. And even though this might be out of place, I think you should talk to them," Cynthia suggests.

"I've been talking to them, they're too stubborn," I protest.

"Come on, we both know there's something that you still haven't tried," she urges me. Almost as if she had planned it, an announcement comes overhead saying that due to technical difficulties the train will be stopping for some time.

"There's your opportunity, go do something," she says.

"Fine, but it's not going to work," I relent. Pushing myself off the couch I set out to find the supposed star-crossed lovers of District 12. Walking fast, I burst into Katniss' room and grab her arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" she screams.

"Just come with me," I reply while pulling her. After a while she stops fighting. When we get to Peeta's room she goes stiff. I do to Peeta the same as I did to Katniss. Now that I have both of them by the arm I pull them down to the end of the train, and the three of us hop off the train. As we land on the ground a flustered looking attendant runs out to yell at us.

"Save it," I interrupt. "We're not going to run off, I just can't have any witnesses when they kill each other."

He looks at me for a second, as if he's trying to decide if I'm actually being serious then goes back inside. The three of us walk in silence for some time. When I feel that it is safe to bring up the subject I stop them.

"Listen, I don't want to do this, but I have to," I state. "Frankly, you two have been acting childish. Peeta you're mad at Katniss because she told you that she was pretending. I get that you would be mad, I would too, but ignoring her and not talking is not going to help. And it just makes you look like an asshole. Katniss, you're confused. It's completely understandable; you don't know what to do anymore. I know it'll be hard, but you have to talk to him again, you're never going to know how you feel about him until you actually spend time with Lover Boy. The very least you two can do is try to be friends. Being mad isn't going to help either of you, and it's going to give me a hell of a lot of stress, so if my baby has something wrong with her and the doctor says it was stress related I'm going after you two."

The two are silent for a few minutes after my rant. I'm afraid that now they hate me as well. I'm just about to give up and walk away when Peeta speaks up, "You have a point. Being friends would be much more bearable than what we've been doing, I'm sorry Katniss. I shouldn't have blamed you."

"I'm sorry too," Katniss speaks like a chastised child. "I agree being friends would be best."

"Thank you," I sigh. "Now let's go back."

As we're walking back you can feel that the tension between the two of them has lessened, it will probably never fully disappear but we're off to a good start. We talk about what we've been doing since we got home, and as I turn to ask Katniss something I can tell that she's hiding something from Peeta and me. She's terrible at keeping secrets. I can always tell when she has one, and judging by the way she bites her lip this one is huge.

"Hey Peeta, I need to ask Katniss something, girl stuff, so why don't you go back ahead of us," I propose.

"Um, alright," he agrees reluctantly, he knows that I'm not telling the truth but thankfully he doesn't bother to question me.

After he's a good distance away I ask, "What are you hiding?"

"What do you mean?" Katniss lies.

"Katniss, you're lying. I know you, something happened now tell me," I demand.

"I really hate you sometimes," she grumbles.

"That's what makes me a good friend," I smile.

She glares at me and replies, "President Snow came to my house and told me that if I don't convince him and the other Districts that I was crazy, stupid in love with Peeta he's going to kill my family."

"He's lying to you," I tell her.

"I think he was pretty serious, Claire," she retorts.

"No, listen; he came to my house too. He told me that the spark of rebellion in the Districts can't be stomped out by anyone, that the only thing we can do is make sure we don't add fuel to the fire," I explain.

"Why would he tell you that and not me?" she inquires.

"I don't know, he's a psychopath he can do whatever the fuck he wants. Maybe he had some false sense of hope that if it was just about your love the rebels will calm down, but he knows that there's nothing that will stop this."

"But why?" she presses.

"It's my fault," I confess. "I know that you took the berries because you didn't want to go back without him, even if you didn't actually love him you two had been through too much, but me there was no reason for me to try to kill myself. I took the berries as an act of defiance."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

**Disclaimer: I don't any of the characters except for Claire Moore, Logan Smith, Cynthia and the other characters that do not belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**This story in rated M for language and violence.**

**I really hope that you all enjoy this chapter. I worked really hard on it and I pray that it paid off. Please, please, please, please tell me what you think because I really want to hear what you have to say. I do. And If you have any ideas or suggestions that will help the story. I will certainly read them, and if I end up using them I will give you credit.**

"You did?" Katniss gasps.

"I did, people had been telling me for so long that if I wanted to I could make a difference. I never understood what they meant until you handed me the berries," I clarify.

"That was brave," she comments.

"Stupid is the word most people would use," I say. "But thanks."

"We should probably head back then," suggests Katniss.

"Yeah," I agree. We walk back to the train silently. By the time we get back Effie is yelling at us for being late and that we have left our prep teams waiting, Mumbling quick apologies we leave to be scrutinized by out teams once again.

Soon we will be in District 11. I would have given anything to make this stop later in the tour, but no I have to start in the one place that will remind me of Thresh first. I worry that the people will be furious at me for living while Thresh is dead. I worry that they will feel bad for me. I worry about everything.

Since most of my prepping was done back in District 12 they only have to do my hair and makeup. Cynthia walks in only second after they finish.

"Out," she demands. I don't know if she likes the prep team or not, but she always dismisses them rudely. I have suspicion that she does it because she's still angry at them for blaming me of abandoning Thresh.

"How are you holding up?" she asks.

"I'm literally shaking," I show her my trembling hand. "Safe to say I'm not doing well."

"We're all going to be here for you, Claire, I promise," she comforts.

"Thank you, but first what am I wearing?" I inquire.

"This," Cynthia proudly holds up a simple, light green dress. I slip it on and look at myself in the mirror. It's strapless, which is a style that I still am not completely used to. The otherwise modest design makes me appear humble and innocent. The way my hair is slightly pulled back ads to the illusion that I'm younger. I would look fifteen if it wasn't for the obvious bump where Thresh's baby is growing.

"You look great," Cynthia comments. "And you're going to be great."

"I don't think so," I contradict.

"You will, Claire," she insists.

"I don't think I will. I will never be able to describe to those people how much I loved Thresh, I just can't. They will never know that, I want them to so much. I need them to know, so they won't think I'm some stupid whore, that I did actually love him," I explain.

"That is what will make you great. Tell them exactly what you told me, and they will get it," Cynthia assures me. She walks over to me and wraps me in a tight and reassuring hug. Just as she lets me go Effie knocks on the door demanding that we have to leave.

Cynthia walks me out to where Katniss and Peeta stand. The three of us gather in front of the door, taking a deep breath we prepare ourselves for the first and most challenging part of the Victory Tour. Katniss and Peeta grasp hands and the door slides open to reveal wide fields of corn and wheat, orchards of numerous types of fruit. The place is ginormous; I was taught in school that District 11 was the largest District but I never imagined it to be this big.

It would have looked peaceful except that there was a concrete wall laced with guards and barbed wire surrounding the District. Thresh and I had never discussed the security of his District except for a comment that it would have been impossible to sneak out of it. Now I knew what he meant.

Cameras bombard us as we exit the train. However, there is hardly enough time for them to snap pictures of us or interview us, because as soon as we leave the train we are stuffed into a car to take us to the Justice Building.

As we ride I become increasingly nervous. I see all of the people working in the orchards or fields; so many of them resemble Thresh I can barely stand it. Memories of him flood back into my mind. I am still conflicted with wanting to forget and needing to remember. When I returned home I thought it would become easier to make a decision, but it wasn't. Then I told myself that maybe when I came to District 11 I would be able to get some kind of closure. So far I was wrong.

The closer we get to the Justice Building the more people begin to leave their work and gather in the courtyard outside the building. I eagerly look at their faces for any sign of emotion; nothing.

Soon we pull up to the Justice Building, and just as quickly as we were loaded into the car we are unloaded. District 11's Justice Building is a tragedy, even compared to ours. The walls are slightly crumbled, and the little wallpaper faded.

We stand outside the doors that will open up to reveal the somber crowd. Effie quickly briefs us on the conduct that we must uphold. I don't pay attention to any of it; with every passing second my anxiety grows strong until it threatens to grip me completely. No matter how hard I try I cannot calm down. I become light headed and so worked up that I think I might pass out.

Just as I am about to back out and admit defeat the double doors open and District 11 blankly stares at us. Three microphones stand ominously at the front of the stage. Before the three of us get to speak District 11'a mayor congratulates us with flowers and a plaque.

The crowd claps half-heatedly for us and we step up to the microphones. Sitting on raised platforms, a few feet away from the stage, sit two families. One a group of small children and a frazzled couple that must be Rue's family, and the other an elderly pair with swollen eyes, gazing directly at me. They belong to Thresh.

Peeta is the first to speak. I almost laugh when he begins to talk, because no matter how fucked up his personal life is he can always say the right thing to the crowd. He talks about how both Rue and Thresh saved Katniss' life and by doing that they also saved his. Just as it looks like he's done he says something unbelievable, "In thanks for their courageous acts I would like to give a sum of my winnings to the remaining family members for as long as I live."

Everyone gasps. Even a small sum of our winnings will be able to keep these families clothed, fed, and comfortable for an entire year. With this generous gift they will live the rest of their lives in luxury. I remind myself to thank Peeta for doing that, it's something that I would never have thought of but would've loved to do.

Katniss is next. She describes how much she cared for Rue, and that she blames herself for her death. Crying she tells of how Rue cared for her when she was passed out from tracker jacker stings. Finally she thanks Thresh for sparing her life, and that she is forever in his debt.

The two speeches before me were so emotional and well-spoken that when I step up to my microphone I'm afraid that there is nothing left to say. But there is and I know it; I just don't want to touch on the old emotion that has clung to me like a cold, wet towel. This is one of the few times where I know what I'm going to do and I take a deep breath and begin, "I really don't know where to begin. Over the months after I returned from the Games I've struggled with these emotions. I've buried them and ignored them for too long. I want you all to know that everything that I am about to say is completely true, but what I will say will never be enough for me to express to you how I felt about him. The first time I met Thresh was after the Parade of Tributes. Back stage he came up to me and introduced himself. It was then and there when he told me that he did not want to spend the rest of his life worrying, that he wanted to make the most of what was left. Before he told me that I didn't know that I could feel so much admiration for one person. The next day we became allies, he would later tell me that it was because he saw something in me that was different. On the day of our individual training he told me that he would always bet on me and that I would never need someone to wish me luck. That night we snuck away and we had our first kiss. From there our relationship grew, and I fell in love with him. I cannot express to you how much he meant to me, I loved him so much…I still do. This one stop on the Victory Tour was the one that I dreaded the most, because I would have to look at you and know that you don't want to see me here. You want Thresh and I want him too, more than anyone could ever know. My worst fear is that you think I let him die, and I feel that way too sometimes, but I need you all to know that if I could have stepped in front of him and taken that spear I would've. I thought about that and worried over it for months, until I realized that Thresh planned everything. He made sure that we made it to a point in the Games where only Katniss, Peeta, another tribute, he, and I were left. Thresh made sure that he died at the right time so that I would win. I never asked him to do that, nor did I want him to. After he died, I lost it, he was what I was living for, and it was all taken away from me. I was sure that my life was now going to be empty and meaningless; I had lost my soul mate. But he had left me with something, his daughter. I promise you that she will know who her father is and what he did and what a great, loving, and strong person that he was. Thank you so much for bringing such a wonderful young man into the world. His time here, no matter how brief, has changed and saved so many lives. I will never forget him."

No one speaks. They stare at me in awe, and I feel guilty. I don't deserve their admiration. After a few moments of nothingness, a man in the back places three fingers to his lips and then presents them me. This is a sign of respect in District 12, maybe it is here too, I may never know. Soon the entire crowd has joined in.

Even though I was crying before I cry even harder. This shows that they understand and don't blame me. I don't know if this will change things for me, but I know it will help. We are escorted into the back into the Justice Building. The doors close behind us and I hear the gunshot.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters besides the ones that are in the original Hunger Games, those characters belong to Ms. Suzanne Collins.**

**This story in rated M for language and upcoming violence.**

**This chapter is going to show off my exceptional skill for using humor in the darkest of places. I guarantee that if something like this happened to me this is exactly how I would react. Another thing I miss you guys, I haven't heard from you in a while, and as I said in the last book if I don't hear from you I assume that you hate me and my writing. So please review and rebuild my self-esteem. **

Fuck. That is the first thought that comes to my mind after I hear the gunshot, _fuck._ There is a reason, I have finally accomplished something that I wanted to do and it backfires. I never intended to get anyone killed; I just wanted to give people the truth about what happened. I just wanted them to know, and now everything has gone to shit.

I can hear the faint sound of commotion outside the doors, and it is my entire fault. I knew District 11 was close to rebelling, but I did not know that the danger was so imminent. Now Haymitch, Katniss, Peeta, Effie, and a group of Peace Keepers stand in front of the massive door separating us from the madness.

"You three," Haymitch spits at me and my fellow victors. "With me, now."

Without hesitation we follow him through the twisting corridors of District 11's Justice Building. I have seen Haymitch angry before, but nothing compares to the rage on his face. Something has not gone as planned. I had assumed that the rebels had wanted District 11 to rebel; Plutarch had directly told me to make sure that I made an impact in this District. Although, I didn't think about that when I was speaking to the crowd, I distinctly remember it now.

We climb numerous sets of stairs, we pass through many different rooms, but Haymitch still does not slow. At one point in our trek he stops us and checks to see if we have any portable microphones. When it is clear that we are not bugged, we continue. After a good fifteen minutes of walking we stop.

The room has a domed ceiling and a collection of clutter. Judging by the flights of stairs we've climbed we must be in the Justice Building's roof.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" demands Peeta when we catch our breath.

"What do you mean?" counters Katniss.

"Cut the crap Katniss. I know that all three of you have been keeping secrets from me and I am sick of it! Did you all forget that I was in those Games too? I went through it too, and dammit I want to know what the fuck it going on!" rants Peeta.

"He's right," I say. "He deserves to know."

"Who wants to explain?" inquires Haymitch.

"Did you seriously drag all of us up here just to have someone else to the explaining," I groan.

"Precisely," he confirms.

"Fine I'll do it," I volunteer. "Two days ago President Snow paid a visit to both me and Katniss. His message to Katniss was that the only way to prevent the Districts from rebelling was to convince him and the Districts that she tried to take her life because she was in love with you, not as an act of rebellion. And to answer your upcoming question she does not know why she took the berries. When our lovely president visited me he told me that exact opposite. He told me that the spark of rebellion in the Districts cannot be stamped out by anyone, that we just can't add any fuel to the flame. I think the reason we didn't want to tell you was that you act so wonderfully on stage we don't want to add any more pressure to you."

"What would happen if either of you failed?" Peeta asks carefully.

"He will kill," my voice falters. "He will kill everyone that we care about."

"That would have been useful information to know," Peeta spits.

"Peeta, I don't think you've done anything wrong," Katniss says.

"What about giving some of my money to those families, that will probably have an effect," he counters.

"I have one more thing I'd like to say, unlike the two of you I took those berries as an act of rebellion. That is what Katniss and I talked about earlier today. So go ahead and yell at me, because I don't think I feel guilty enough," I confess.

"Alright, next time you people know something that will potentially kill my friends, of which there are many, tell me!"

He storms off and the three of us stand in the intimidating silence. Katniss leaves a short while later, leaving me alone with Haymitch. Haymitch speaks up first, "That went well."

"It would have gone better if you had let me tell him earlier," I retort.

"I truly thought that it would be better if he was ignorant," Haymitch defends.

"Clearly you were wrong, and I had finally made peace between the two of them. I think this is going to ruin it," I state.

"This is bigger than the four of us, I had to make choices, Claire," he yells.

"This choice; don't ever make it again. And next time I learn something I'm telling Peeta right away, no matter what you say," I spit and storm out. Mumbling to myself about what to do next, I stomp down the stairs.

When I get back to the ground floor a group of Peace Keepers is waiting at the bottom of the stairs. They stare at me emotionlessly. Trying to sound casual I say to them, "Yes, is there something that you want?"

"There are some people here that wish to see you," replies one of them. They lead me down a few hallways and into a small, scarcely furnished room. On one particularly scraggly couch sits an old couple. I know them, even though I have never formally met them. They are Thresh's parents. Fuck.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the chatacters except for the ones that weren't in the original Hunger Games or Catching Fire. The rest belong to Suzanne Collins.**

**Rated M for violence in later chapters and language **

**Okay people now I'm getting sad. I haven't heard from any of you since the first chapter. I really, really love to see your reviews; they seriously can turn my day around. I am writing this for you and if you have an idea or if there is something that I did that you really liked TELL ME! I need to hear it! And I won't post another chapter until you tell me what you think, yup I'm that needy.**

**Fair warning I was too lazy to edit it so I apologize in advance for my spelling and grammar.**

I stare at the couple and they stare back at me. I was not expecting this. How did this even happen? I don't want to talk to them, once again it's just going to bring up feelings I have tried so hard to suppress.

Gathering up my courage I address the Peace Keepers, "Can you give us some privacy, please?"

"We'll be outside," they agree. Personally, I think they wanted to leave because even without them the whole situation was awkward. Taking a deep breath I wait for them to say something. I feel like an intruder. Thresh was their son, and I feel like being with him in his final moments was something that I never had the right to do. Part of me believes that I stole their son.

"Please sit down," Thresh's mother says to me. Tentatively, I sit on a chair opposite their couch.

"So…" I sigh.

"So…" repeats Thresh's father. After about a minute of this uncomfortable situation Thresh mother speaks.

"We don't blame you."

"You don't?" I exclaim.

"No we don't," Thresh's father confirms.

"Thresh wanted you to live, he did. What you said in your speech was right he planned everything. Even by watching it you can see that, I can tell that he really loved you," explains his mother.

"You believe I loved him right?" I ask meekly. "Please tell me that you don't think I'm some sort of whore."

"We don't think you're a whore," laughs his father. "We wanted to tell you that we believe you, and we thought that if you could hear it from us you wouldn't blame yourself."

"But it's my fault," I cry. "How could it not be?"

"There was nothing you could do," his mother assures me.

"I could have tried harder, I know I could've," I admit, these were the thoughts that I had been harboring for so long. Thresh had fought so hard for me to win, I could've at least tried to think of a plan. I didn't even want to win.

"He wouldn't have wanted you to," Thresh's father says. "Listen, the last thing that we want to do is make you feel worse. You know before he talked about it in the Games Thresh didn't believe in soul mates."

"What?" I ask, the was that Thresh talked about them in the arena was with so much reverence felt like it was something he had believed in for his entire life.

"It's true, whenever I would tell him about it would say that it was stupid. We always say to him that it because he hadn't found his yet, and we were right," his mother explains.

"Thank you, but you two are talking about me with so much respect, I don't deserve it. I really don't," I reply.

"You survived the Hunger Games, you made history in there, and you're carrying our grandchild, I'd say that qualifies as deserving of respect," Thresh's father tells me.

"I still don't feel worthy enough," I confess.

"That's alright," she says. "That means you're humble."

We talk for a while. I love them, they are so kind and supportive, just like their son. They tell me about Thresh when he was younger, and I tell them more about what happened to us in the Games. Thresh had once told me that I reminded of his mother. He was right; I see a lot of myself in her.

Much too soon, I am pulled away from them to get ready for dinner with the mayor. Thankfully, Cynthia is the one to take me away. She gives her condolences to them and we leave.

She will be doing all of my prep work tonight, so I don't have to see my horrible prep team. While Cynthia does my hair and makeup I tell her about Thresh's parents. She listens patiently and only interrupts to ask questions.

As always when she finishes with me she places me in front of the full length mirror. My hair is pulled back into an elegent bun, my makeup is profound, yet soft. My dress is a forest green, it flows gracefully down me, and lacy sleeves cling to my arms.

"You look beautiful," Cynthia says.

"One of your best," I comment.

"Definitely," she agrees. "I thought it would be important that you looked best here."

"Agreed."

Silently, we walk out to the hallway outside of the grand staircase and wait for our entrance. I quietly discuss the conversation with Thresh's parents to Katniss and Peeta. When we depart they will be walking behind me. They're keeping us separate more often then they used to, I suppose it was to make them seem more like lovebirds but it just made me feel alone.

The anthem starts to play and we start our procession. I hold on lightly to the wooden banister as I walk down the stair. I hold my high and smile slightly, trying to appear elegant, but I just feel stupid. I shouldn't be smiling not here.

Cameras flash and blind me. No matter how many times it happens to me I never can get used to it. They ask me questions about my brief experience hear and I answer quickly and concisely, not wanting to talk to them. I hate the media almost as much as I hate my prep team.

Peeta and Katniss follow me, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. They look so in love and so happy, but sadly nothing could be further from the truth. I don't whether Peeta is still mad at us.

When we were up in the roof Katniss had confessed that Gale had kissed her. When she had said that I watched Peeta closely, although he had tried to appear indifferent I saw the jealousy. Gale had taken something that he had wanted, a real kiss from Katniss. But who knows how Katniss had felt about it.

Dinner was surprisingly nice. The other guests attending were our stylists, Effie, Haymitch, District 11's Head Peacekeeper, also their mayor, and the families of District 11's tributes. After meeting Thresh's parents earlier I wasn't as frightened at dinner as I would've been. Katniss, I could tell, was barely holding herself together when she talked to Rue's family. Occasionally, I would glance over at her and see Peeta holding her hand, stroking it. Whether she loved him or not they were there for each other, and I have a feeling that they always will be.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except for the ones that weren't in Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games**

**Rated M for extreme violence in later chapters and language. **

**I know I haven't posted in a while I just felt that I was rushing the story working more of making sure I got chapter out then the actual quality of the chapters themselves so I took a short break to do some other writing and now I hope that I'm going to get back to my full potential. Thank you all for favoriting, following, and reviewing I love you guys and I hope you enjoy chapter eight.**

As soon as dinner was over we left. I only briefly got to say goodbye to Thresh's parents and we were off.

Now I stand in my room on the train dismantling my hair. The whole day was a whirlwind. First the speech, the riot, the fight, the meeting, and then, finally, dinner. Looking back on it I just don't know I should feel about it. I want to be happy about Thresh's parents believing me. I want to be furious about the lives lost in the riot, but I can't help being somewhat proud that people are finally taking a stand against the Capitol. And that was just the first stop on the tour, I really don't want to even imagine what will happen in the other Districts.

Shaking my silky hair out I remember something that Cynthia had told me about. Back in my house in District 12 she had told me that if I had ever needed to talk to someone that I should call Finnick. I didn't really think about actually doing so at the time, but now I actually considered it. For a while I mulled over the pros and cons until I finally said to myself "Fuck it" and grabbed the phone in my room.

"Hello, this is Finnick Odair, what do you want?" he says rudely.

"Um, hello this is Claire Moore, I was told by a friend of mine that I should call you," I reply awkwardly.

"Yeah, it was Cynthia, right?" he asks his voice lightening. "She told me that you might be calling."

"It was her, and I just needed to talk to someone right now, and she said that you might be a good person to talk to so… um," I trail out. This was a dumb idea. What was I thinking?

"It's fine, I've been through the Victory Tour it sucks, I hated it more than the actual Games," Finnick reassures me.

"You did?"

"Absolutely, and by the way, I'm completely alright with you calling me. We victors, we have to stick together," Finnick consoles me.

"Thanks," I reply and then I begin to tell him about the day's events. He calmly listens to me and lets me vent. I had talked to Finnick before now, but he had never been so kind. When I first met him at the rebellion's meeting I had assumed he was a jack ass. He has been known as the Capitol's slut ever since he turned eighteen. After I had gotten to know him during those meetings I had come to realize that even though he might be a slut he was a friendly slut. Now while I was talking to him I felt ashamed of what I had assumed about him. I can't believe that he would just sleep with people at random, at least not by choice.

"So what should I do?" I ask when my story is over.

"Well, your tour is much more complex than mine, but the best advice is to listen to your mentors and do what they say. And if you don't agree with them ask Cynthia, she usually knows what to do," he suggests.

"She does," I agree.

"And, fair warning, the hardest part is going to be the dinners in other Districts. No one is going to be happy to see you, it's nothing against you personally…they just, well, they hate your guts," explains Finnick.

"Well that makes me feel a hell of a lot better, thanks," I say sarcastically.

"It's nothing against you personally, you were in the Hunger Games, and you did what you had to do to stay alive. On my tour someone stabbed me with a steak knife," he replies.

"That's comforting."

"There's no way to sugar coat it, it is what it is," he admits.

"Thanks for talking to me and letting me vent," I tell him. "It's getting late so I think I'm going to go."

"Yeah, no problem and feel free to call back any time, even if there isn't any trouble, like if you're just bored or something," he states.

"I'll do that, bye then."

"Bye," he replies and hangs up the phone. When the conversation is over I feel a sort of relief. I don't know what from, but ending the conversation has somehow lifted a burden from me. I try to dismiss it, but somehow it always slinks its way back into my thoughts.

I try to remember if I felt anything during the phone call that would cause me to feel this way now. At one point in my thinking I recall how my heart started to pound a little faster and how I felt my cheeks grow hot when he told me that victors have to stick together.

But why would that make me nervous? I don't get it. Could I just have been anxious that someone would discover the fact that we had met before through rebel meetings, or was it… No I refuse to go there. There is no possible way that I would feel that way towards him, not even a little. I belong to Thresh; even if he is gone, I'm his and I could never feel the same way about another person…ever. So I do what I always do when I feel something I don't like, I push it down until it's so small I can't feel it any more.

I know how terrible that is to do to yourself, and I also know that no matter how hard you shove it down it will always resurface in a horrible way. I don't know any other way to cope with these kinds of feelings, before the Games I barely felt anything. I miss that, I might've been cold, but I knew where I belonged and how to handle things. I don't know how to handle anything anymore.

That night I sleep restlessly and wake up even more tired than I was the night before. The dining car is filled with the scent of fresh coffee, no wants to be up yet, not even Effie. She tries to appear cheerful and ready for the day, but every now and then she has to blink herself awake.

Today we're in District 10. After my conversation with Finnick I start to realize that District 11 might've actually been the easiest stop on the tour. At least there not everyone hated me, as I'm sure they do in every other District. My mind travels back to the Games, trying to remember if I had killed anyone from this District.

My heart sinks when I remember that I did. Not only did I kill him, but he was my first kill. Tonight I will have to sit down and eat a civilized dinner next to his family. These thoughts eat away at me as I shuffle down to the car where Cynthia is undoubtedly waiting for me.

Cynthia is waiting patiently for me when I arrive. She doesn't chastise me for being late; she simply gives my hand a little squeeze and gets to work. When she is done my hair is pulled back into a French braid and I am wearing a simple black halter dress. My eyes are lined with dark greens and blacks. I look up at her in horror and anxiously ask, "I'm Death again, aren't I?"

"I'm so sorry."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that are in the original ****The Hunger Games**** the others however do belong to me**

**Rated M for violence and language**

**I really hope you enjoy this chapter. I love writing for you all and I miss hearing for you. Tell me what you like about the story and tell me what you want me to improve on and I'll do my damnest to make it happen. But thank you all for following, favoriting, and reviewing it makes me so happy.**

"Why?!" I scream at Cynthia. "Why must I be the fucking Woman of Death tonight? Are you trying to make me go mad? I cannot be death; not here, not now. Please, Cynthia."

"I'm so sorry, but I had to," she apologizes.

"But why?"

"Listen," her voice turns into a whisper. "This District is somewhat close rebelling. You, being Death here, it will rub what the Capitol has done to them in their faces. I'm sorry I have to do this to you."

"I don't want to be a monster, Cynthia! I can't be a monster," I cry.

"I'm sorry," she says again. That's how it is for a while, crying and apologizing. I do see her point; it is the perfect way to make a District rebel. Still, I do not want to do this. I don't want people to think of me as a mindless, psychopathic killer.

Eventually, I give in. Chances are even if I wasn't dressed like this they would still hate me and want to murder me in the most brutal of ways. It's inevitable; I killed one of their own.

I walk out of my dressing car, and discover that Peeta and Katniss are once again the Boy and Girl on Fire. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who will be out there looking intimidating. Sure, I'm more frightening then them, but I won't be the only one who is transformed into something I'm not.

While I'm talking to myself Peeta comes up to me and says, "I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. I was just upset, but I understand what you were doing, why you were keeping things from me."

"I'm sorry too Peeta," I apologize. "I should've told you anyways, but I promise I won't leave you out of anything ever again."

I do not know this at the time, but what I just promised will become one of the biggest and most dangerous lies I will ever tell. That lie will lead to death and torture. If could do one thing to change how everything had turned out it would be to make sure I would keep this promise.

After our apologies we walk back over and join Katniss. Still having time to spare, we talk casually about everything and anything. None of us actually paying attention to the conversation, but worrying and dreading about what wait for us outside the safety of the train.

Just as it happened in District 11, we are swiftly loaded into a car that will drive us to the District's Justice Building. In the car I sit, cowering with my head in my hands, not daring to take a glance out the window. Outside there are people who hate me. No doubt they are glaring at the car with unadulterated hatred. No doubt they are cursing me and wishing that it was him in the car and that I was rotting in hell. But it isn't and within a matter of minutes they will be gathered around me, cheering for me. All the while loathing my very existence.

Anxiety builds inside of me with every second. In practically no time at all we have pulled up to the Justice Building. Like a zombie, I walk into the building. Outside the doors Effie briefs us on our expected conduct. I will not be saying anything here. I have neither the privilege nor the right to do so. Just dressing the way I am is enough of an insult to send them flying over the edge.

The huge, dark, oak doors swing out in front of me. Katniss, Peeta, and I simultaneously walk out onto the stage. Silence; that is what the crowd gives us. Katniss and Peeta are holding each other's hands affectionately. I stand cold and aloof, acting superior to all of them, while inside I'm dying.

The mayor of District 10 congratulates us and presents us with flowers and plaques. I am deserving of neither. Killers shouldn't be praised, we should be damned.

Peeta and Katniss give short speeches, I continue to stand alone. We are almost done, we are almost about to leave when the mayor asks me to say something. He says it as if he is taunting me, like he wants to see me suffer. As I tentatively step up to the microphone I can feel the crowd growing excited; they are daring me to do this. I want to back down, but I can't.

Unprepared and terrified I begin to address the crowd, "I killed your tribute. I am a murderer and you have every right in the world to hate me. I understand, I hate myself as well. I regret all that I did to harm others in the arena. But I am Death, and regrettably that is exactly what happens to those who come near me."

The speech weak, but at the last line I swear everyone takes a step away from me. Their expressions do not change. They remain as cold and hard as ever. Humiliated I follow the others back into the Justice Building.

No one dares to say a word to me. This is just as well, considering I have no desire to speak to anyone. I know of only one person of whom I want to talk to, and he is dead. Cutting like a knife through the awkward silence, Cynthia, Cinna, and Portia announce that we must be taken away to get ready for dinner.

I don't protest; I am barely a shell of who I really am today. Mindlessly, I sit and stare blankly at the red wall opposite me. Keeping my mind completely and totally empty is the only way to avoid having to face the dreaded reality that soon I will be forced to sit down and have dinner with my first victim's family.

After Cynthia is done with me I inspect her work. My dress is short and black. Its lacy sleeves synch at my wrists to create a sort of cuff. My sorrowful eyes are surrounded by reds, and my lips are painted crimson. My vision is constantly shifting from how I look now to how I must have looked while murdering the boy.

"I wish I knew a way to make this easier on you, but even after doing this for years I don't know how," admits Cynthia. She is clearly still ashamed of making me Death, but I am no longer upset with her. I don't feel anything except a shame.

"It's okay," I reply monotonously. We stand in silence until the Peace Keepers come to take us down. The dark brown and blood red interior of District 10's Justice Building seems to move in upon me, threatening to suffocate me with every step I take.

Tonight I will be last in our mournful procession into dinner. As I begin my descent down the stairs I see the families come into me. Both of them stare up at me animosity, but one stiffens with anger when I come into view. I close my eyes momentarily trying to shake their loathing stares, but they wear the same look when I open my eyes again.

Piles and piles of food lie before me when I take my seat at the table, but I have no desire to eat any of it. I know that anything I consume now will only take seconds to find its way back up.

The family of the murdered boy sits across from me. There are three of them in total: a mother, a father, and a sister. Each one of them glares at me in between bites. Tonight's meal is much tenser than the previous one.

The young girl, who can't be any older than fifteen, is the one to break the silence, "Why'd you do it?"

I ignore her. I don't want to remember the Games. I can't relive those memories, not now, not ever.

"Answer me," she demands. "You murdered my brother and I deserve to know why."

"He was going to kill me," I answer hesitently.

"Look at me when I'm talking to me, bitch," she snaps.

Finding new strength to defend myself I slam my silverware onto the table and stare into the girl's eyes, "Your saint of a brother was about to kill me. I beat him to it, that's how it works. I bet that if he were here you wouldn't be lecturing him about his motives, hypocrite."

"I don't think that's why you did it," she retorts. "I think you killed him because you are a heartless, immoral, killer!"

"Don't you dare tell me who I am! I dare you to go into the Hunger Games and not kill someone. There are no morals in the Hunger Games; you do what you have to do to stay alive!" I spit.

"What, like getting yourself knocked-up you little whore?" she torments me.

"How dare you," I yell.

"Ladies calm down," demands Effie.

"No!" both of us protest.

"I hope you rot in hell for what you did to my family," the girl growls. So quickly that I can barely register what is happening she grabs her fork and drives it into my hand. I howl in agony while the Peace Keepers drag her kicking and screaming body away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that were in the original Hunger Games; those belong to Suzanne Collins**

**Rated M for Language and Violence**

**Thank you all for your continued to support of this story. I love all of you guys, so virtual hug time…and please reviews tell me what you like what you want me to improve on. I love hearing from all of you. And I was once again too lazy to edit so spell check didn't get it I didn't get it.**

I gently massage my hand. The gauze underneath my fingers is slowly turning red. It's been about five days since I was stabbed with a fork.

I don't blame the girl for stabbing me; chances are I would've done the same thing if I was in her situation. The image of her being dragged out of the dining hall is burned into my mind. We left before I could discover what happened to her. Whether she died or was brutally tortured, I don't know, and I don't want to.

District 7 was the next District where I encountered one of my victims' families. The tribute had been the boy who gave me the long, ugly scar across my stomach. His family looked strong and intimidating. They looked down on me like I was beneath them. It seemed as though they were more upset that they're son or brother was taken down by weak tribute more than he was dead.

Now I sit alone on the train waiting for us to pull up to the train station in District 4. I stare out of the window watching the rain pour down. Disappointment had flooded through me this morning when I woke up and saw the rain. With the rain adding even more depressing tones to our already morbid atmosphere.

I had been looking forward to seeing the tranquil ocean and endless blue skies that Finnick had described to me. I had been calling him more often in the past few days. It was nice to have someone to talk to. Sometimes he would give me tips for surviving the Victory Tour, but most of the time we just talked about the most random things.

He told me about his talent, which had been playing the guitar, and I talked about my singing. One time he had pestered me for almost a half-hour before I gave in and sang something. We discussed the differences in our Districts, and things that we wished we could see. I, personally, had wanted to see an actual dolphin. I had ever since I was a little girl and had found out what the animal on my ring was called. He wanted to see the mountains, and not just briefly glance at them on the way to the Capitol. He wanted to go hiking out in them and climb to the top of one.

While I'm looking out the window Haymitch comes up and sits next to me. I look at him and wait for him to say something, he doesn't. He just stares outside the window as well.

"Well," I say breaking the silence.

"I found out something today," he replies coolly.

"And what was it?" I inquire.

"There was an uprising in District 10," he states.

"Then why are you frowning? This is supposed to be a good thing, right?" I whisper.

"It started immediately after the girl who stabbed you was…" he hesitates. "Right after she was publically beaten to death."

"Oh my god," I gasp. Why would they stab her? It doesn't make sense; I'm an enemy against the Capitol so why would she have been killed for hurting me? Maybe they did it because she actually had the courage to stand up to someone, even if it was me. Would they still consider that a form of rebellion?

I think about her parents and come to the horrible and sickening realization that I had gotten both of their children killed. They will hate me for the rest of their lives. I don't know why that would matter; I'm never going to see them again. If they hate me it shouldn't even have an impact on me. But it does. I know it will eat away at me for the rest of my life, both their hatred of me and the guilt of practically murdering both of their children.

"I'm sorry," Haymitch consoles me and holds my hand. The gesture surprises me at first. Haymitch hardly ever touches people, and yet he's here comforting me. To be frank it frightens me.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Attempting to be nice," he responds.

"Well stop, it's weird," I say.

"I agree," he concurs and lets go of my hand. Before I have any more time to dwell on the uprising or the girl's death Cynthia pulls me away to get ready for my appearance in District 4.

While she's transforming me into something beautiful I tell her the news that Haymitch had revealed to me.

"I already knew," she tells me.

"You did?" I inquire.

"Yes, I got a call right before I went to get you," she replies.

"How do you think I should feel?" I question.

"Honestly, I don't think you should feel anything about it. It's already a complicated situation without the personal connection that you have it, so I think that you should just remain without an opinion on the matter," Cynthia explains.

"If only it were that simple," I say.

"I know," she sighs. "But we're all here to help you."

"Thanks."

"Anytime," she smiles.

Within a matter of minutes after our conversation she is done and I gaze at my reflection in the mirror. My dark hair flows naturally behind my bare shoulders. Cynthia has put me, once again, in a strapless dress. The fabric covering my chest is a light, bright blue. Underneath it is a strip of white silk, and the rest of the dress is made of blue and white horizontal stripes. It fans out very freely and somehow makes me feel at ease.

However, the last thing I should be feeling is at ease. The two tributes who had discover Thresh and me in our cave came from this District. Their deaths were by far the most brutal kill Thresh and I had committed.

I thank Cynthia for her work just as Effie comes bustling into the car to collect me. I've gotten used to the hectic routine by now: get off the car, get stuffed into the car, go to the Justice Building, listen to briefing, accept prizes and give speech, then go back in and get ready for dinner.

Through the sheets of rain I can still see the beauty of District 4. Palm trees blow violently in the wind. As we pass the shore I watch the foamy waves crash onto the wet beach.

District 4's Justice Building is by far the nicest one we have seen so far. Its outer walls are covered with carvings of shells, fish, hooks, nets, and dolphins. The monument is breathtaking with all the intricate details in it, and it simply blows away.

I think of dingy District 12, with its grimy streets and dusty air. The brittle trees inside the fence would snap in half if faced with these intense winds. The houses here are sturdy and at least twice as large as small structures we call home back in 12.

Soon my time to marvel at the exterior of the building is over, and we are lead inside the Justice Building. Just like the outside there are carvings of sea creatures along with statues of them. The models are made of marble or granite, and the craftsmanship of them is incredibly detailed.

When we get to the front doors an attendant tells us that we are going to have to wait until the storm dies down. This news sends Effie into a tizzy. She angrily rearranges her schedule while the rest of us try not to laugh at her. Much to Effie's dismay it takes about thirty minutes for the rain to stop and we go outside.

The smell of rain greets me and I breathe it in. The sun is beginning to peak out of the greyish clouds. As always I scan the audience to see the degree of hatred they have for me. Most of the crowd remains indifferent about our appearance, while other's glare at us, me in particular. In the front row I see only two people sitting next to each other. The middle aged couple stares at me with malice and disdain. It takes me a little while but I finally come to the heartbreaking conclusion that the two tributes were siblings.

I can't bring myself to look at them. Shame over what I did fills me like it has done every time before. In an attempt to distract myself I advert my eyes and look away. Then I see him. In the front row a few seats down from the now childless couple sits Finnick Odair. He meets my gaze and gives me his classic, cocky smile. It's been so long that I've seen him, and his smile makes me want to laugh. I almost do, but I then remember why I'm here and suppress it.

The speeches go by quickly and almost painlessly. The three of us stick to the script that was written for us. Thankfully, I only choke on one word in my apology. Without missing a beat we are herded back in the Justice Building to get dressed for dinner.

Cynthia has me wearing a silvery-grey, silky, floor length dress with lacy sleeves that reach my elbows. My hair is pulled back into an elegant bun.

Almost on cue, Effie calls for us as soon as Cynthia puts the final touches on my makeup and hair. By now I'm used to the grim procession down the stairs and have also learned to tolerate the aggravating flashes of cameras.

The dinner tonight is exquisitely prepared. What looks like hundreds of seafood dishes have been laid out for us, and unlike in many of the other Districts, this time I pile my plate to the brim. Effie looks at me disapprovingly, but doesn't make a comment.

While I eat lobster and shrimp I can feel the eyes of the parents staring me down. I'm just about to say something to them in an attempt to apologize personally, but before I can the doors burst open. Through them walks Finnick dressed in a formal suit and tie.

"Sorry I'm late, but it took a while for them to recognize me," he announces.

"Oh I'm sure they did," comments Cynthia. "I mean people aren't used to seeing you with that many clothes on."

"True," he laughs while pulling out a chair next to me. "Mind if I sit by you?"

"Not at all," I reply and he plops down next to me. I glance over at Effie who looks as though she is about to have an aneurism brought on by his terrible manners.

"How did you get in here?" I ask him when everyone has recovered from his entrance. "I didn't know they let past victors in here."

"Well no where does it say that it doesn't, and when you're as good looking as me you get away with quite a lot," he explains, and I roll my eyes. With him here I no longer can feel the anxiety that filled me moments ago. With him here I forget that the tributes' parents are even there.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters that were in the original Hunger Games; those belong to Suzanne Collins**

**Rated M for Language and Violence**

**Thank you all for reading! R&R please!**

The time I got to spend with Finnick was over much too quickly. As always we left right after dinner. All of us gave quick and hurried goodbyes to him and were back on the train within a matter of minutes.

Seeing him in person seemed to have given me a new confidence that I actually could get through this. There were only three more Districts left and then two days in the Capitol. In five days it would all be over and I would be able to go home for good. Then I would be able to contribute all of my attention to the rebellion and hopefully forget about the Games.

District 3 went by smoothly. None of us had killed anyone from there so the parents' anger wasn't directed towards us. They simply would stare at us, probably imagining their son or daughter in our place. As always I couldn't blame them.

Today, however, I was petrified. This is the day that we arrive in District 2. Cato, one of the tributes, had been my final and the final kill of the Hunger Games. He was so close to winning and realistically he should have won. I had been preparing myself not for the sadness of his parents but their anger. I could not imagine the parents of a Career crying over their child, at least not for long. I can only imagine the anger and shame they would feel.

In District 2 especially the Hunger Games are viewed differently. Instead of something they should dread they treat it as something to be proud of. They have volunteers almost every year, and each one of wants to be the one to win and bring honor to their District. Because of this their tributes actually train to become killers; naturally, they win almost every year as well.

But not this year, this year Katniss, Peeta, and I brought an end to their winning streak. And I was the one to kill their prized fighter.

Now I pace around the train, trying to distract myself. I wipe my perspiring hands on my sweat pants. My stomach is constantly flipping with anxiety, causing me to feel like I'm going to vomit. Haymitch, Cynthia, and even Effie try to calm me down, but their attempts are futile. The confidence that I had received after seeing Finnick is completely gone.

When Cynthia collects me to get dressed I am ghostly pale and look as though I might faint. I sit stiffly in a black chair while Cynthia applies my makeup and fixes my hair. It is of no shock to me that when I see my reflection I have become the Woman of Death.

In some ways I am thankful for this. The intimidating disguise might be enough to frighten the people just enough so that they don't kill me. My dress is jet black with long sleeves. Unfortunately, the skirt only touches a few inches above my knees. Having my bare legs exposed like seems to slightly increase my anxiety. My hair is pulled up into a pony tail; the look is simple but profound.

"Claire they're not going to do anything to you, I promise," Cynthia states while she straightens out my dress.

"But how can you be sure?" I ask. "If these people are heartless enough to praise their tributes like that how can you be sure they won't hurt me?"

"This is not the first time I've been here Claire, they aren't going to do that, trust me," she assures me.

"I'm just so scared," I cry.

"I know, but I promise you I will never leave you," she says. "And the guards will keep you safe trust me."

I didn't have any more time to protest since Effie came in right after Cynthia finished speaking. I try to get control over myself and calm down, but I barely was able to stabilize my breathing.

During the car ride to the Justice Building all of us were tense. This was the most dangerous and intimidating District in Panem. Their Justice Building is the largest one we've seen. It's black, metallic structure looms over us like an executioner. The place makes me feel even smaller than I already do. The building seems to be waiting for us, as though it knew we were coming and as though it's been preparing for this day.

The inside is a combination of blood red colors and black. It gives off the essence of a medieval castle. Large sets of armor are placed in every hallway. Each one of them has some kind of deadly weapon that seems to be so precariously set that it will fall on me if I even breathe on it.

Sooner that I had hoped the doors open in front of me and I step out into the daylight. Dark clouds cover the horizon and a sea of stone faced people stand in front of me. I am taken aback by how neutral they look. I stare at them more intently, but I can't make out any kind of emotion in their eyes.

Their mayor actually smiles as he hands me my plaque and bouquet of black roses. The angst I had been feeling just moments ago has now been replaced by pure and utter confusion. These people are actually treating me like a guest…not a killer. Part of me is relieved but the other part is upset. They should be furious with me. The should want to kill me like I killed Cato.

Before long I am being ushered inside like I have been so many times before. The regular routine returns, and Cynthia takes me upstairs to get ready for dinner. While she's dressing me I ask her, "Why aren't they mad?"

"District 2 does not mourn the loss of their dead, at least not for long. They simply move on. Especially with their tributes, the tributes know that they will probably die when they volunteer, and the parents are the same. They just accept the fact that they lost," Cynthia explains. "And yes, to this the Hunger Games is just a game to them. It's awful."

"You mean they're not even sad?" I gasp.

"If they are they don't show it," she answers mournfully.

"That's just terrible," I exclaim.

"I know, but that's just how they live," she says. Soon I'm ready, my hair has been left the same, but my makeup has been done with blacks and golds. My dress is straight and jet black. Diamonds of fabric connect the front of the dress to the back. The material is heavy and has a slit up the side of my leg.

Cynthia and I leave the room and join the rest of the group. We stand and wait for our orders to walk down the stairs. Effie is bustling around getting us all in order and making sure everything is just so. Once she's satisfied we begin the macabre march down the stairs.

As I'm walking down the stair I try to wrap my mind around the concept of not mourning your lost loved once. I can't, from experience I know that I could never do that. I have a new understanding of how Cato was able to kill so effortlessly. Death was not a big deal here so killing wouldn't either.

After I get off the stairs I sit down in a foreboding dining chair. Across the table sit Cato's parents. His father has the same blonde hair that Cato did, while his mother's hang down is raven waves. They don't glare at me like the other parents did they simply inspect me. I can feel their eyes watching me, trying to see if I was worthy enough to bring down their son.

"Where did you learn to throw like that?" Cato's father asks.

"Excuse me?" I ask, not once has a parent asked me about what I did in the Games. It isn't just the question that catches me off guard; it's the fact that he says it like he admired me.

"Where did you learn to throw knives?" he repeats.

"Um, I started when I was twelve. I taught myself," I answer cautiously.

"It doesn't make sense," he says to his wife. "Cato started when he was nine."

"He was weak," comments his mother.

"How can you say that?" I exclaim.

"I'm sorry?" she inquires.

"How can you say that about your own son? He's dead you should at least try to show him some respect, and he wasn't weak. I saw what he did and he was anything but weak," I yell.

"If you were able to take him down than he was," his father explains defensively.

"Let's be honest, you shouldn't have won," sneers his mother.

"You people are heartless!" I scream. "I cry for months over the fact that I have become a murderer and you don't even seem to care that you own son is dead!"

"Claire," Haymitch gives me a warning look. Grudgingly I sit back down and stare in disgust at Cato's parents. I can't stand to be near these people. Even though I killed Cato and that I hated him, his death does not deserve to be ignored. Just like everyone else he was a person.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games, because if I didn't I wouldn't be writing fanfiction**

**Rated M for violence and swearing in later chapters**

**Thank you all for reviewing, following, and above all reading. You suggestions are always helpful (thank you EmmaMellark97 who gave me a suggestion for this chapter) R&R please and I'll write faster!**

I stand in front of a mirror in the Training Center. Sliding my hands over my stomach I feel my daughter kick. I smile poignantly at the thought of her. I can't wait to actually see her, but at the same time I don't want her to be born into such a cruel world.

Part of me is sure that if I didn't have her I would've killed myself. It's true, I had wanted to die, and I'm sure that she has saved my life. I wipe a tear off my cheek and silently thank her for rescuing me.

Staring into my reflection I think of how so much has happened in so little time. I've met Thresh's parents, been stabbed, been screamed at, been mocked, been congratulated, and hated all within about a week. We had arrived at the Capitol this morning, and now I'm waiting alone for Katniss and Peeta to finish their interview.

It's almost over and that means in any second Peeta will propose to Katniss. Surprisingly, it was her idea. To be honest it's one of the few good ideas she's had. You would've thought that Peeta would have been over joyed with the prospect of it, but it didn't. He didn't want her to marry him because it was what the Capitol wanted; he wanted it to be real. After she had suggested it he went off to his room and cried. I stayed with him and let him vent. It really was tragic and made me depressed just listening to it. He really loved her. It is literally impossible for him to love her any more than he did.

I hear the roar of the crowd and I know that he did it. I hear Katniss squeal with fake joy and the president congratulating her. Their interview goes a little over time when Snow offers to host their wedding in the Capitol.

The word wedding sets something off in me that I didn't know was there. It makes me angry that they will get to have a real wedding when their relationship isn't even real, while Thresh and I got married in a cave in the Hunger Games. It's not where we were married that hurts me, no matter what that will still be the happiest moment of my life. It's that the Capitol fawned over Katniss' fake love, and how they completely ignored mine. It should have been Thresh and me out there not them.

I look at myself one more time to make sure I look like I haven't been crying. I can't look weak in front of the Capitol. Cynthia has really outdone herself to make me look beautiful tonight. My hair is placed elegantly and perfectly on my head. My dress is a cream-gold color with sleeves that sit on the sides of my shoulders. I look absolutely gorgeous.

Katniss and Peeta hurry off stage and quickly wish me luck. From off stage I brace myself for what's to come and enter just as Caesar Flickerman say, "And now ladies and gentlemen Claire Moore: the Woman of Death!"

I enter the stage swiftly and take my seat across from Caesar. When the crowd settles down Caesar asks me his first question, "So, Claire, how would you describe the Victory Tour?"

"Terrifying, I had to meet the families of people I killed," I answer. "I was petrified."

"And who could blame you after that girl from District 8 stabbed your hand," he states. "What was that like?"

"It hurt, but I don't blame her. I did kill her brother I deserved it," I confess.

"I see. Now one of the last times we talked I asked you what you were going to name your baby. Since you didn't even know you were with child we gave you a break, but now we've been waiting almost nine whole months for our answer. So what's the name."

"Iris, Thresh had told me that he liked the name," I say.

"What a beautiful name," he states and turns his attention to the audience. "Don't you all think?"

The crowd screams wildly.

"Now, we all heard you sing for your talent and let me tell you that you were amazing," he compliments me.

"Thank you, but really I'm not that good," I protest.

"Nonsense, she was amazing wasn't she?" he asks the crowd and they cheer. "You heard them, now will you sing something for us?"

"I really don't have anything prepared," I oppose. I pray that the crowd and Caesar leave it alone, but they don't. They start chanting "Do it!" over and over until I relent and begin to sing.

"_Sometimes I wish for falling  
Wish for the release  
Wish for falling through the air  
To give me some relief  
Because falling's not the problem  
When I'm falling I'm in peace  
It's only when I hit the ground  
It causes all the grief_

_This is a song for a scribbled out name  
And my love keeps writing again and again  
This is a song for a scribbled out name  
And my love keeps writing again and again_

_I'll dance myself up  
Drunk myself down  
Find people to love  
Love people too drunk  
I'm not scared to jump  
I'm not scared to fall  
If there was nowhere to land  
I wouldn't be scared  
At all_

_Sometimes I wish for falling  
Wish for the release  
Wish for falling through the air  
To give me some relief  
Because falling's not the problem  
When I'm falling I'm in peace  
It's only when I hit the ground  
It causes all the grief_"

It was another song we were taught at the Home. The song was about being so caught up in your life and so worried about it that you would do anything to stop it, or at least take a break. But even after that short moment of rest or relief you still have to go back to your awful life. It's quite a dark song, but it tells us the harsh reality of life.

Immediately after I finish the crowd erupts into an overly dramatic frenzy. They scream and clap for me and all I want to do is slap them. Their reaction seems to belittle the song that I had grown up. They can't possibly grasp its meaning.

"That was beautiful," Caesar says.

"I'm not that good really," I insist.

"Oh don't be so modest," he laughs. "Sadly our time is over, so ladies and gentlemen once again Claire Moore the Woman of Death!"

I exit the stage while the audience applauds for me. No one is back stage waiting for me so I head up to the 12th floor.

"Hey Miss Claire," Haymitch greets me as I enter the room.

"Where's Katniss and Peeta," I ask.

"Their stylists dragged 'em off to get ready for the party," he explains. "Speaking of which Cynthia should be here any minute now."

The second he finishes his sentence Cynthia comes in to find me, and she takes me to the blank white room where I got ready before my first interview. The place still holds the same awkward air that it did before. The random chair, bathtub, and mirror still look as out of place as ever.

While I examine the room Cynthia comes out with a blinding, red dress. Its sleeves have a rose pattern made out of lace, and it looks like they will drape over my hands. Cynthia helps me into the gown and I look at myself in the mirror. The bright red material clings somewhat to me but not uncomfortably. As I predicted the lacy sleeves fan out around my wrists and fall slightly over my hands.

"Why the sudden change in color?" I inquire.

"I got bored of drawing with black and green," she comments and begins to style my hair. It is true, most of my dresses have been some shade of black or green, and if they weren't they were usually still dark. I have to admit it was nice to be wearing something less morbid.

"Cynthia, how many tributes have you designed for?" I question.

"Nine," she replies.

"And how many have made it back?" I continue.

"Counting you, two," she answers.

"Just two?"

"Yes."

"How do you deal with it? You know talking to these people, getting to know them and then seeing them die," I say.

"You try not to get your hopes up. If you expect them to die the loss isn't as hard as it would be. I don't mean to sound insensitive, but you just have to distance yourself from it. Otherwise it's just too hard. I've seen mentors go insane from it; you can't get too attached," she explains. "You were an exception. Sometimes I meet a tribute who is different, and just like with other people you just can't help but like them. You, Finnick, and a tribute called Evelyn were the tributes that I genuinely wanted to come back more than the others… the only ones I rooted for. Other times I didn't watch the Games."

_Evelyn. _I know that name. Three years ago a girl from the Home was reaped. Her name was Evelyn. She was the closest thing I ever to a sister. Evelyn had been the girl who taught me to fish and gave me the job of taking care of the other kids when she left. She died in the bloodbath. I still remember the day I saw her die. She had been my idol.

"You were Evelyn's stylist?" I ask carefully. "She was from my District right?"

"Yes," she answers. "You knew her?"

"We grew up together; she was like a sister to me," I reply.

"I'm sorry. I only knew her for a little bit but she was an amazing person."

"She was," I agree. It's odd, I hadn't thought about her in so long. Now that I thought about it, the sadness I had felt about it before was replaced by anger. She had died without any more recognition than the boom of a canon and a picture in the sky. Besides the children at the Home no one wept for her. She was forgotten, and it wasn't fair.

That, I remind myself, is why I am in the rebellion. I am fighting for those who were ignored. I'm not going to let those tributes be forgotten.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence in later chapters.**

**Thank you all for your continued support for the story! It really means a lot to me. This chapter is going to be really sweet, adorable, cute, and super cheesy. R&R please!**

**And sorry I know this chapter is short.**

I walk out into the crowd with Peeta and Katniss by my side. We're entering our party in the Capitol. Cameras flash and blind us. I don't fake a smile, and as soon as the cameras back away I find myself a seat by the wall.

I hate people, not just Capitol people (whom I have a particular disdain for) I just don't like being in crowded places. It's always just been too stressful for me. I prefer to be alone anyways.

Now I'm slouching with my head in my hands just waiting for this goddamn party to be over.

"Hey, you might want to go out on the dance floor," someone says. "You don't want to ruin your friendly and cheerful reputation."  
"Ha fucking ha," I reply. I know that voice. It's someone who I has gotten me through this terrible Victory Tour. "Hello Finnick."

"So, why so glum tonight?" he asks. "Even Katniss is out there dancing."

"Katniss just got engaged, of course she's happy," I retort.

"Bitter," Finnick coughs.

"What about you? I thought you'd have people flocking over you."

"Unlike you I don't have to keep up an appearance, so it's perfectly fine for me to tell people to fuck off," he explains. "Besides most of the people here have already met me."

"I'm just happy people are surrounding Katniss and Peeta instead of me," I say.

"I'm getting the sense that you don't like parties," Finnick states.

"Really? Where on earth did you get that impression," I gasp in fake surprise.

"Just a shot in the dark really," Finnick plays along. "Come on let's dance."

"Why?"

"Because you look sad," he pouts.

"And dancing is going to cheer me up?" I ask skeptically.

"Well, when you're dancing with me, definitely," he confirms.

"And why would that be?" I tease.

"Because I'm the beautiful Finnick Odair," he announces. "It's an honor many people would kill to have."

"If it will get you to shut up then fine," I agree grudgingly. Finnick springs up from his chair and holds his hand elegantly out to me. I roll my eyes and take it. We laugh and run out to the dance floor. He places his hand on my waist and holds my free hand in the air. My hand rests on his shoulder. We stare into each other's eyes for a while.

His are a piercing, bright green with tiny flecks of gold in them. However, if you really look into them, you can see sorrow. But this is different from the sorrow that I've seen in the eyes of other victims. This kind of sorrow is the same that I see in my eyes. It's the kind of sadness that comes from losing someone you loved dearly.

I wonder who it was that he lost. I'd told Finnick about Thresh, Logan, and the other Home kids, but Finnick had never told me about his family or personal life. Now I want to know. Cynthia had told me that we had a lot in common. I never had given that much thought to what else we had in common besides the fact that we were the only two victors that Cynthia knew personally and had designed for.

I realize that Finnick and I have been look at each other for quite a while. Not only that but we've stopped moving.

"I…um…" I stutter.

"Yeah uh…me," he mutters.

"I'm gonna go get food," I excuse myself.

"Me too," Finnick says. As we walk over to one of the elaborately decorated table I can feel my cheeks grow red. I glance over at Finnick to see if he notices, but he's just as reed as me and is avoiding my gaze. I giggle and immediately bite my lip. What the hell is wrong with me? I have barely ever blushed in my life let alone giggled.

Scolding myself I turn around and see Cynthia across the room. We lock eyes, and she raises her eyebrows at me curiously.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence in later chapters, to quote Saw II, Oh yes, there will be blood**

**Thank you all for reading and being so supportive of the story and of me. Please continue to review, the reviews are what keep me writing every week. *SPOILER ALERT* This chapter contains the much anticipated birthing scene! All I know about birth is from what I've seen on TV so my knowledge is 100% accurate, JK.**

Immediately after the party ended Effie had us back onto the train to head back to District 12. I plop onto my bed, feeling exhausted. The Victory Tour has drained me of nearly all my energy. I barely have to energy to pull myself out of my dress and wash all the makeup off my body.

Clothed in only a t-shirt, I curl myself up in my sheets and fall asleep. I sleep for hours upon hours. I don't dream. For what feels like the first time in my life I am finally at peace. It might be short lived, but in those hours I don't worry.

The nest morning I wake up and see the familiar sight of the snowy District 12 woods. The frosted trees greet me when I look out the window. I damn near cry at the sight. Now, after all the hell I've been through, it is finally over. I won't have to be exploited by the Capitol ever again.

We pull into the train station, and Katniss, Peeta, and I, clad in soft winter coats, step out into the freezing air. They cheering of District 12's citizens greet us. Unlike in so many other Districts, these cheers are genuine. In the front of the screaming crowd stand Logan and Loretta. They hold hands and beam up at me.

About a month after I returned from the Games they revealed to me that they were together. I was so happy for them. Loretta told me how Logan had reacted to watching me almost die in the Games. She said he was distraught, because he had truly considered me family, like I had him. She helped him get through it, and really just kept him sane.

After the roaring stops we leave the stage and the Harvest Festival begins. The festival is usually just held by District 12's people, but this year the Capitol is taking over. The have decorated the streets in festive streamers and other decorations. Tables upon tables of food lie in wait for the starving people to devour them. This is the first time I feel that good has come from winning the Games. With Katniss, Peeta, and I returning, District 12 is finally fed.

The Harvest Festival goes on until dawn. Amazingly, I stay up for the entire thing. I dance, eat, and laugh. Logan and Loretta pressure me into singing some of District 12's classic folk songs. Singing for these people was much easier than singing for the Capitol. These people knew all the meaning behind the songs and appreciated every word. It wasn't me that they were interested in, it was the music.

In a few days all the hype from the Harvest Festival and the Victory Tour died down. I now spend my time reading old books, talking with Logan and Loretta, and calling Finnick. For once I'm actually happy. I'm not really bound by any restrictions. Nobody is judging my every move of every minute of every day. I have time to just relax and finally think of myself for a change.

Just as I sit on my bed to start a new book, a sharp agonizing pain shoots through my abdomen. Immediately I am filled with horror. Did I just have a contraction? A few minutes later an equally painful stab goes through me.

"Logan!" I scream for him. "I need help!"

The second the word help leaves my lips I can hear Logan's feet pounding up the stairs. He flings open the door and bursts into my room.

"What's wrong?" he inquires worriedly.

"I think I might be going into labor," I answer as steadily as possible.

"Holy shit, um…what do you want me to do?"

"Get Katniss' mom," I demand as the pain shoots through me again. I groan and writhe in the pain. Without another word Logan leaves for help. He has been just as nervous about this baby as I am. Throughout the pregnancy he was always asking me how I was doing, or demanding that I take it easy. At first it annoyed the hell out of me, but I understood why he was doing it.

He was worried that with how weak and fragile I was that I wouldn't be able to carry the baby. He knew just how much this baby meant to me, that she is the only part of Thresh that I still have.

Shortly after I called for him, Logan comes back in with Mrs. Everdeen and Prim at bay. The two immediately get down to business, preparing everything and trying to calm me down. Their attempts prove unsuccessful. The entire time Logan stands next to me and allows me to squeeze his hand until it's broken.

Hours of excruciating pain pass until my baby is finally born. The pain subsides almost immediately, and I lay my head down in exhaustion. Logan is still holding my hand, more gently than before, and talking to me, "You did it."

Soon I am holding Iris in my arms. Prim wrapped her in a soft white blanket. Her soft, tan face peaks out at me. She smiles up at me and wiggles in the confines of the fabric. I laugh and smile back. She is beautiful, and looks so much like her father. She has Thresh's kind, brown eyes. The tiniest wisps of dark brown hair lie on her head.

Seeing her, for the first time, is bittersweet. I'm happy beyond compare, but the fact that Thresh does not get to be here for this moment of pure and utter joy breaks my heart. The thought of this and of Iris' future give me a new resolve to fight in the rebellion. I will not let her go through the tortures of Reaping Day and-God Forbid-the Hunger Games themselves. No, I will fight for her more than anyone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games of Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**Thank you for reading and please review. I apologize for this one being short too. **

The snowy air whips around Logan and I as we walk down the streets of District 12 to the abandoned warehouse we know so well. A few minutes ago we got a call from Plutarch explaining that something big is about to happen and that we need to meet immediately. We left Iris with Loretta and went to the warehouse immediately.

I had never heard Plutarch so excited. Finally after months and months of planning something had paid off. No matter what happened, at this point, anything that happens could change the whole game.

Logan knocks on the door. A gun and a blue eye peak out at us. A look of recognition spreads over the eye, and the door closes. When the door reopens we walk inside to see the entire rebel group sitting anxiously waiting for us.

We take our seats next to Cynthia and Finnick, and Plutarch starts to speak, "As you all know recently we have reached a point where this rebellion might actually be a real possibility. Just a few days ago we received information about an uprising in District 8. This uprising was one that we had not anticipated. Because of this there might be even more in Districts that we hadn't expected either. I also want to thank our own Claire Moore for encouraging the rebels in Districts 11 and 10."

People nod their heads towards me. I simply look down at my feet. During the Victory Tour, thoughts about the rebellion had left my head, so any uprisings I caused were unintentional.

"Now, you all know that we have been counting on the Quarter Quell to make our plans work. Our hopes were just confirmed and we will now be able to disclose them to you. Over the past six months we have been working with the Capitol and with Gamemakers to have the 'special twist' for the Quell be to put Victors back into the Arena. Once in the Arena we will try to break the victors out and take them to safety. The reason for this is to show the Capitol that the Games will not stop the rebellion but encourage it instead," he explains. "We will rig the Reapings to make sure that most of the victors chosen are from the rebellion. I know that this is too much to ask of you, but you have to think about the lives that you could save by doing this. That said over a long grueling and torturous process we have selected those of you that we believe have the best chance of survival and will serve most useful to our plan. They are: from District 3 Wiress and Beetee, from District 4 Finnick Odair, from District 7 Johanna Mason, and from District 12 Claire Moore."

I cannot speak. My mouth goes dry and my eyes wide. I can feel my hands start to shake. I thought I was free from the Games. I thought it was all over. I thought I would never have to do _that_ ever again. I am too shocked for words. Terrified and not wanting them to see me I run deeper into the warehouse until I find a small room far enough away from the other rebels.

"Claire! Claire!" I voice shouts my name. I don't answer. I curl myself into a ball and shiver, not from cold but from pure horror. Visions of ripping flesh, splattering blood, sickening shrieks, the swing of weapons, and the cracks of bones flash through my mind. I cannot go back! I can't!

"Claire," the voice that called me earlier has found me. I don't look up, but I feel them cradle me in their arms. I wrap my arms around their neck and cry into their shoulder. I look up into his eyes, Finnick's bright, green eyes. They look back at me in worry.

"I can't do it," I whisper.

"I can't either," he agrees.

"But we have to, don't we?" I state.

"Yes," he resigns himself. We sob into each other's shoulders. Both of us know the unbearable hell that the Hunger Games truly are. Going back...I just can't…I can't imagine. And going back with even more experienced killers makes the preposition even more horrifying. Back in there, Finnick and I don't stand a chance. We will die. We were chosen solely because we are the only rebels from our Districts.

Whatever this plan is, I don't know if it's worth my life. Even if it is worth my life, it is not worth leaving Iris an orphan. I am all she has. I can't leave her. But either way I have no choice. The only option for me is to get through the Games, and hope their plan to get us out works.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Catching Fire or the Hunger Games**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**I would like to say, for the record, the extreme acts of selflessness you are about to read are things that I would never do, because frankly I'm a pussy. I like to think I'd do things like that, but in all honestly I'd push whoever was by in the line of danger and run away. But what about you? How selfless are you? R&R please, your reviews are what keep me writing and I haven't gotten one in a while.**

Soon all of my tears have escaped me, and I'm left with empty sobs. Finnick then lifts my face up in his hands. I stare sorrowfully into his eyes. His soft thumbs wipe away my tears and rubs circles on my cheeks.

"Claire, I promise you I will not let you die in there," he vows.

"You don't have to do that, Finnick," I begin to protest.

"I know, but I want to," he states.

"But why?"

"You have a daughter now. I'm not about to let her become an orphan. I won't help her go through what you had to endure. I will make sure you get back to her," Finnick promises.

"I won't let you die either," I tell him.

"Thank you," he whispers. I wrap my arms around him and hug him so tightly as if he is the only thing left in the world. He returns the embrace with just as much enthusiasm.

After the meeting Logan and I walk home together. He tries to keep his composure, but I see the tears that slip out of his eyes. He takes my hand in his and holds it tightly, assuring me that he's going to help me through this. Just like the first time I left him he makes me promise to fight with all my might. I tell him I will, but unlike the last time I really mean it.

As we pass through the square, we see the crowd of people swarming and yelling and shouting. Then above the heads of the people, I see the unmistakable shape of a whip and hear a sickening crack and an agonizing scream. Something inside of me snaps, and I fight my way through the crowd to see what the fuck is going on. I stumble through the last row of people and almost fall onto the wooden, whipping post.

Hanging down from it is Katniss' old hunting partner, Gale. His back has been ravaged, and all that is left are shreds of bloody skin. Above him the carcass of a wild turkey with an arrow still imbedded in its nick swings in the cold wind.

"He's had enough!" screams a voice next to me, and I see Loretta block the next blow. A sharp crack echoes through the now silent crowd. A thin red line runs down Loretta's pale face and neck.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Logan shrieks from beside me. He hurtles himself in front of Loretta and Gale.

"You want to take their place?" inquires the giant of a man wielding the whip. Logan glances back and the gory remains of Gale's back and glares at the man.

"Yes," he confirms without a single hitch in his voice. At his statement, Loretta starts to protest, but I pull her kicking and screaming from the stage. With all my might I restrain her. Gale's unconscious body is simply dumped onto the ground below, as they shackle Logan to the board, and rip his jacket and shirt off. He doesn't protest or even utter a word.

Right before the first whipping is given, Logan looks me in the eye. I nod my head in understanding, and he hangs his down in submission. The look he gave me I know all too well, both from giving it and seeing it. It was how Logan and I always looked at each other right before one of us was going to be beaten by one of the warnings. Right after we stepped in front of one of the children, if the other was there, we would lock eyes and pass this silent message to one another, _I'm so sorry, but I have to._

It is this selflessness that will be our downfall. We will step in to save someone in a heartbeat, even if it could mean death for us. It has simply become an impulsion to us. It seems that if we don't intervene the fact that we could have helped but didn't will haunt us forever. I know that if I wasn't still stunned from the news of my having to go back into the arena I would've been right there next to him.

In a flash of black the whips slices through Logan's skin. A trail of blood trickles down his naked back and splatters onto the frozen ground. Loretta screams and struggles against my arms, but I am stronger. The deadly and cruel cycle repeats over and over again, until Logan's flesh is hanging down in sickening bloody strips. Loretta has stopped trying to break free from my grasp and is now simply sobbing uncontrollably.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to block out the gruesome scene in front of me, but the image still flashes through my mind even after my eyes are shut. Logan's limp, seemingly lifeless body hangs pathetically on the post. Blood pours out of his back and drips down, staining the white snow below.

I am positive that he is going to die, but then above the silent crowd I hear someone shout.

"What the hell is going on here?" Haymitch screams, while maneuvering his way through the people. Never in my life have I been happier to see anyone. Following in his wake is Peeta. Their arrival causes the man to lower his whip.

"By the looks of him I think he's had enough," states Haymitch threateningly. He raises his eyebrows menacingly to the man, daring him to whip Logan again.

"He's all yours," the man says and unshackles Logan. Loretta sprints towards Logan to catch his limp body as he falls.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks me.

"I'm fine," I answer shakily. Together Loretta and I drape Logan's arms over our shoulders, while Haymitch and Peeta do the same to Gale. The four of us drag the haggard, bloodied, and abused victims back to the Victor's Village.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Hunger Games or Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**Thank you all for following and favoriting. I really really look forward to your reviews so please if you have anything to say SAY IT! And please enjoy! P.S. It's really late right now (when I'm writing this that is) so I barely edited. Forgive me.**

We drag the two unconscious bodies into the Everdeen's house. Mrs. Everdeen is the closest thing we have to a doctor in District 12. She sees all of us and her eyes widen in understanding. Leaping into action she instructs Prim to get some bottles from upstairs and clears the table. Gingerly we set Gale and Logan on the table and wait for further instructions.

I look down at the torn and bloodied backs of the two young men in horror. My mouth hangs open in shock, and I fall back into a chair. Staring down at my hands, red with the blood of those in front of me, I see memories of my first Games flood through my mind.

I see Thresh's lifeless body, and me kneeling over it, begging him to come back to me. Cato's icy, shocked eyes stare back at me as I thrust my knife into his heart. Images from my battles with the boy from 10, the siblings from 4, and the psychopath from 8 flash through my mind next.

I cradle my head in my hands, my hands press into my temples, trying to stop them from continuing. All I want to do is leave, but I won't let myself. I am not going to leave Logan. He's never left me and I will never leave him.

"Claire," Peeta says softly laying a hand on my shoulder, "did you want me to take you home?"

"No, but could you just stay with me for a while, at least?" I reply.

"Of course," he smiles at me. He pulls up a chair next to me, and we wait. Together we watch Katniss' mother mix snow with some greenish substance and apply it to Logan's and Gale's backs. Prim wraps some in a towel for Loretta.

Suddenly, the door opens, sending in a gust of snowy wind. I watch as Katniss kicks the snow off her boots and walks into the kitchen. Before she saw the two bloodied bodies on the tables she seemed to be fine. When she saw them, she started to scream.

"What the hell happened?"

"Gale was caught," I tell her. "And Logan stepped in to take the rest of his whipping."

"Oh god Gale!" she runs towards him and holds his limp hand in hers. She cries and cries for him to stay with her. Next to me I feel Peeta stiffen slightly.

Hours pass, and eventually I just can't take it anymore. I run up the stairs and into one of the bedrooms. Before I had left for the rebel meeting this morning, I had left Iris with Prim. Just as I left her, Iris is fast asleep in her carriage.

I gently and lovingly caress her soft cheek as she sleeps. She giggles slightly and smiles up at me. I gaze down at her, thinking how can something so wonderful and innocent be born into this cruel, cruel world. Here she sleeps softly and contently, while downstairs lay the two unconscious, bloodied bodies of two of the bravest men I know.

On the bedside table in the bedroom sits a telephone; I reach across the bed and grab it. While one of my hands has its index finger wrapped in the tight grasp of an infant, I use my free one to dial Finnick.

"Hello," sighs Finnick upon answering.

"Hey, it's Claire," I reply.

"Is everything alright? You sound a bit…flustered," Finnick asks sensing the anxiety in my voice.

"Well, Logan, he…um…he got whipped," I state.

"Oh my God, is he gonna be okay? What happened?" Finnick inquires.

"Gale, Katniss' friend was caught poaching and some new Peacekeeper whipped him until he passed out. They were going to beat him more, but Logan stepped in," I explain. "And I don't know if they'll be alright."

"Where are they now?"

"Katniss' mom is taking care of them, so they're in good hand but… I still don't know," I begin to cry.

"Hey, hey it's going to be alright. We'll get through this, I promise," he assures me. "But you're okay, right? They didn't…hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. I'm scared but fine," I answer.

"Good. Just remember if anything else happens please call me. I don't care what time just call me," he tells me.

"I know, and same for you."

"Thanks. Did you want me to stay on the phone for a while, keep you company and all that?" he suggests.

"I'd like that," I smile through my tears. And that's just what he does. He talks to me and keeps me distracted from the hell going on downstairs. We talk for what feels like hours, until Loretta walks into the room.

"Claire," she says, "Logan wants you."

"I have to go," I tell Finnick and after a brief goodbye hang up the phone. I meet Loretta at the door. Her eyes are red and puffy from the tears. I wrap my arms around her and whisper, "I'm so sorry, Loretta."

"Thank you," she replies. Downstairs Logan still lies on the table. The pain in his eyes shows just how much agony he's in. Swiftly, I slide into a chair next to him and take his hand.

"Logan," I say gently.

"Claire?" he asks groggily.

"I'm right here," I assure him.

"How bad is it?" he interrogates me.

"Pretty bad," I answer honestly. "But you're gonna be just fine, trust me."

"How can you know that?"

"Because I know you, you're a fighter. You're gonna get better I promise."  
"Are you okay? Did anyone else get hurt?"

"I'm fine, so is everyone else, but you need to rest," I tell him.

"Good, and Claire?"

"Yes?"

"When you go back into that arena, you are going to really try to fight, right?" he inquires.

"Yes, I really am," I promise. "But why does that matter now?"

"It gives me something to fight for," he sighs and falls asleep again.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Hunger Games, if I did I wouldn't be writing fanfiction for it now would I?**

**Rated M for language and violence…so much violence**

**Sorry, I haven't posted like all month. I was busy doing something called National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) where I had to write 50,000 words in a month which is really fucking long. To give you perspective so far this story is only about 22,500 words. I literally went insane writing it but I finished! YAY! So now I'm back to you guys were I only have to write like 2,000 to 4,000 words a week compared to the 10,000 words I week I was writing. It's nice to be back I admit. I apologize for this being so short, but I have to ease myself back into this story since it's been so long since I even looked at it. Enjoy and don't forget to review.**

A week has passed since Gale and Logan were beaten. With the miraculous work of Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, both of them have managed to sit up. Knowing that I will be going back into the arena, all of my time is spent with Iris.

She smiles up at me constantly. I talk to her, telling her what a wonderful person her father was. She's so small and so delicate, but so wonderfully beautiful. I try to keep myself from crying, when I think about how I might have to leave her forever.

Tonight is officially when the Quarter Quell's twist will be announced. All of us have gathered at the Everdeen's waiting to find out what the horrific twist will be, but Haymitch, Logan, and I already know what fate has in store for us.

After hours of waiting, President Snow steps up onto his podium. In his gloved hands he holds a box. At an agonizingly slow pace he reaches in and grasps a single white slip of paper. Even though I know exactly what that paper will say, I hold my breath in anticipation for it to be read.

"In celebration for this the 75th Hunger Games each District will be required to reap tributes from its existing pool of victors," he announces. "Another change this year is due to District 12 having three victors last year we believe that it is only fair that they will be required to supply the extra tribute as a reminder of District 13. Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor."

The TV goes black and for a moment all there is, is complete silence. Then Katniss barges out of the house. In her wake Haymitch and Peeta chase after her. I feel the gentle touch of Logan's hand as it slides into mine.

"I'm sorry Claire," Prim says to me, tears glistening in my eyes.

"Thank you, Prim," I tell her. "I think I'm going to go home."

My voice is shaky and I try to keep myself composed. I knew about them sending the victors back in, but making District 12 send in three out of our four victors is new. I know that the Capitol hates us, but I thought that with the Victory Tour over they would finally back off on what happened in the arena. I know that is it stupid to think that, idiotic even, but I hoped and prayed that that would be the case.

But no, and the reality of their unyielding hatred for the three of us is more clear to me now than ever. They know that they can't publically execute us without having a fucking full-blown riot on their hands, so they decide to send us all back into the Games. Sending us back in there is just as good as a death sentence as shooting us at point blank, but the knowledge that someone does get out of the Games alive, gives our supporters hope that one of us could come out alive. The harsh reality is that the Capitol is going to make this as hard as humanly possible for us to survive.

If we did not have the Rebels working in the Games, we would certainly die on the first day. Hell, we wouldn't even make it past the bloodbath. And even though we have the Rebels' protection that doesn't guarantee that we'll live. In fact, our job description is literally protecting Katniss at all costs.

Sure, both Peeta and I survived the Hunger Games, and I was the only one who had coherent knowledge of what we were actually doing when we attempted suicide, it was Katniss' idea to take the nightlock and her idea to kill ourselves. Therefore, she is the face of the rebellion whether she knows it or not. She is the Mockingjay, as we've been calling her in the Rebel meetings, since her token has become the official unofficial symbol of the Rebels, the hope for change in the Districts.

I think about this as I walk home with Logan, and I laugh to myself. Just like in the Games I'm going to be overshadowed again. Trust me I'm not mad at this fact, since it makes me No. 2 on the Capitol's hit list, but it is slightly frustrating. I have done more for the Rebels than her and I'm forgotten, while all she did was pull out some goddamn berries. Kind of ironic when I think about it, now I've moved on from being the forgotten tribute to the forgotten victor.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Catching fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**I honestly don't have any witty remarks to put in this particular author's note, so just enjoy chapter 19 and please tell me what you thought!**

Anxiously I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are fraught with worry. My hands tremble slightly in anticipation for the inevitable future that lies before me. Today is Reaping Day, the day that I've been waiting and preparing for, for months now.

My black dress clings slightly to me. I'm able to actually fill out clothes know that I've gained weight. When Peeta discovered that three of us would be going back into the arena he's had us training like careers. The amount of muscle all of us have put on is incredible and will hopefully give us an upper hand in the arena.

I know that the main reason he's doing it is so he can protect Katniss, and Katniss is doing it so she can protect Peeta, and I'm doing it to protect both of them. Specifically my priority in the arena is to protect Katniss, but I'm doing to do my damnest to get Peeta out of there too.

"Hey, Claire?" Logan says as he walks into my room.

"Hello," I reply coldly.

"Claire, I don't know what to say," he stutters.

"I'm not exactly sure there is anything to say," I state.

"True, but I just, I never thought we'd have to do this again," he sighs.

"Neither did I," I agree. "Last year was supposed to be the last for both of us…no matter what happened."

"But then…" Logan trails off.

"Everything changed," I finish.

"Exactly."

I look into his eyes. The eyes I've known forever, the eyes I trust, the eyes of my best friend…my brother. I throw my arms around him and cry into his shoulder. I've tried so fucking hard to stay strong. I can't even remember the last time I cried.

Last time it wasn't nearly this hard. Last time I had absolutely nothing to lose, and I thought nothing to gain. But now, I have everything to lose and everything to gain. The last time, I did not have a family, I did not have hope, and I did not have a daughter.

Iris. The same person who had been keeping me alive is now killing me. She's what kept me fighting, what kept me going, but now I'm leaving her. The possibility of never seeing her again tortures me, but the thought of her becoming an orphan with only a dolphin ring to remember her parents by is what kills me. I can't let her end up like me: hopeless, bitter, cold, lonely.

"Logan," I mutter into his shoulder.

"Yes?" he asks eagerly.

"Take care of Iris, and if I don't come back-" Logan stops me.

"Don't you dare say that!" he snaps.

"Logan," I say sternly. "If I don't come back, take care of her."

"Claire, you will come back."

"Promise me," I plead.

"I promise."  
We stand there, the both of us, in silence. Neither one of us knows exactly what to say. I mean, what do you say to the one person you've known your entire life right before you're sent out into a death mission. I was to say something to him about how much he means to me and how much he's helped me, but there are no words that would be able to express the entirety of the gratitude I feel for him. I'm about to speak, when Logan laughs. It's a pathetic laugh, but a laugh all the same

"What could possibly be funny?"

"It's just that. The last time, I had this glimmer of hope that you wouldn't be reaped. And back then, it was possible, but even though I know what's going to happen, I can't shake that feeling," he admits.

"Always the optimist," I joke.

"Someone had to be, otherwise your pessimistic attitude would've suffocated the rest of us," he replies.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I confess. My voice is breathy and weak. "I…thank you for everything, Logan."

"There's no need to thank me."

"I know, but I had to tell you."

"Thank you too," he repeats, "for everything."

I wrap my arms around him one more time, before I slip on my chain. Hanging on it are two rings. My dolphin one and my wedding ring, Thresh's ring. I hold them in my hand tightly; my fingers sliding up and down on the dull metal.

There's one thing I have to do before I leave for the Reaping. I walk across the hall to Iris' room. Her white crib sits underneath the window; the soft, yellow sunlight drifting through the curtains. Lying on the soft sheets is Iris. She smiles up at me and giggles. She has no idea that this might be one of the last moments we spend together.

"_I was a little girl, alone in my little world, who dreamed of a little home for me. I played pretend between the trees, and fed my house guests bark and leaves,"_ I sing to her one last lullaby. "_And laughed in my pretty bed of green. I had a dream that I could fly from the highest swing."_

I can't bring myself to finish the song. My throat is tight, and tears roll down my cheeks. I smile sadly at the confused and fascinated face of my daughter and mange to choke out the last verse of the song.

_"Now I'm old and feeling grey, I don't know what's left to say about this life I'm willing to leave. I lived it full I lived it well, as many tales I live to tell, I'm ready now to fly from the highest swing…I had a dream."_

"I'm so sorry I have to leave you," I whisper to her. "I love you and I promise I will try to see you again soon."

I lean down and kiss her forehead gently. I leave her once she's fallen asleep. I couldn't bear to have her witness what's about to happen to me, and along with Loretta and Logan I leave for the Reaping.

The streets of District 12 are crowded with people coming to watch the Reaping. The nervous tension that has been present every other year is replaced with sadness. No one wants to see any of us go, we are the pride of District 12, the only thing they had to show up the Capitol. We are the symbols of the rebellion and we're all being taken away from them.

There are two, small sections roped out for the victors/possible tributes to stand in. A year ago, I remember walking to the same place. Skirting around other children and finding my spot next to Logan. Last year I was just as insignificant as everyone else, but this year people part for me. They come up to me and wish me luck and give me their condolences. The treatment is new and weird to me. I'm not sure how to respond to it, so I simply mutter a thank you and carry on.

Just before I enter my section to join Katniss, Loretta grabs my wrist and pulls me back.

"Claire, I forgot to say this last year, so I wanted to tell you that I'm so thankful that you were there to save us in the Home. We would've never survived without you," she tells me.

"Thank you Loretta," I say. "Thank you for staying with Logan during the Games, I think you saved him."

"Good luck Claire," she states. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

I laugh weakly at that and slip into the roped of section with Katniss. Once I enter it, I become someone else. I am no longer Claire Moore or the Forgotten Tribute. I step in there, and I become the Woman of Death once again. My head held high and my shoulders back. I stare up at the stage waiting for Effie to come up and draw my name. I brace myself for it, the confirmation of everything I've been preparing for and the start of the Rebels' plan.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 74th Hunger Games!" Effie's voice echoes throughout the Seam. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Just like she does every year, she saunters over to one of the glass bowls. But this time, there are only two slips of paper in it. With a flick of her gold glove, she plucks out a piece of paper.

"Katniss Everdeen!" she announces. No one speaks, as Katniss bravely walks onto the stage. Effie moves onto the next bowl and pulls a name out of it.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

"I volunteer!" shouts Peeta. Haymitch barely had begun to move when he said it. Peeta makes his way onto the stage and stands next to Katniss.

"And finally our tribute who will represent District 13 in this Hunger Games," Effie speaks into the microphone as if it's some big secret we're all dying to find out. It's almost comical really. Katniss' and Haymitch's names have already been drawn making them ineligible, and Peeta volunteered so he's out too. I am the only possible candidate left, but still she swirls her hand around in the bowl, until she snatches my name, the only name, out of it.

"Claire Moore!"

I walk onto the stage and take my place next to the two other tributes. This, this is exactly like it was before, the three of us standing on this exact stage-tributes of the Hunger Games.

"Ladies and gentlemen of District 12 I present to you your tributes for the 15th Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, and Claire Moore!"


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**I want to apologize profusely for referring to the 75****th**** Hunger Games as the 15****th**** and 74****th**** Hunger Games in the last chapter. I saw that after I posted and it frankly made me want to cry and ruined my day. I'm so so sorry! Don't hurt me, but you guys know I don't really edit, which is a terrible habit, but I'm lazy. Anywho I really like this chapter and I think it turned out well so I hope you enjoy it. REVIEW PLEASE!**

I throw myself onto the silk covers of my bed. They didn't even let us say our final goodbyes, before we were loaded onto the train. Part of me had kind of expected that, which is why I made sure that I said goodbye to everyone before the Reaping.

I barely talked to anyone once I was on the train; I just went straight into my room. But now that I'm here, I realize that I'm all alone. The two lovebirds are too busy thinking up of ways to make the other win, like Thresh did for me; Haymitch is busy mulling over the Rebels' plans since he quit drinking, and Effie dear God why would anyone ever want to talk to Effie? My confidents are gone and my husband is dead.

Thoughts of worry and uncertainty fill my mind. All the ways that this plan will fail epically play before my eyes. This is not the first time that this has happened to me and I am sure that it will not be the last. To counteract my anxiety I go through the entire plot in my mind, focusing on the intricate details of it all. I reassure myself that it is foolproof and that unlike last time I know what I'm.

Yes, this time I know what's going to happen, opposed to the last time where I didn't even know what to expect. This time will not be like the last. This time will not leave me heart broken and certainly not pregnant. I will not fall in love; I'll leave that to District 12's star-crossed-betrothed-lovers.

"Moore, get out here!" Haymitch shouts for me. His voice is clear, so at least he's not drunk, but sober Haymitch isn't that much better than drunken Haymitch. I roll my eyes and slide off my bed. All the others are sitting in front of the large television, waiting for the recaps of the Reapings to come on.

I honestly don't really pay attention to it, since I already know quite of the few Tributes who will be Reaped. In fact, I watch Peeta more than anything else; he's sitting anxiously on the couch scribbling frantically in his little notepad like a preppy school girl. He's been obsessed with learning everything there is to know about the victors: their weaknesses, strengths, how the won, etc. Frankly, while it is helpful, it's just fucking annoying, but I understand where he's coming from. The more you know your enemy the better chance you have at beating them.

District Four's Reaping plays next and this one I do watch. Finnick is Reaped, obviously, and he steps up to the stage smiling and waving at the citizens of District Four but mainly at the Capitol's cameras.

It's another thing the two of us have in common. When we're by the Capitol, we become someone else. He transforms into hunky, witty sex god, while I morph into a psychopathic murdering machine. It's funny to me because, thanks to Peeta, who made us watch the recaps of all of the victors' Games, I have seen Finnick's interviews, where he's happy, always smiling, charming, carefree, and trying to be sexy to the point of being obnoxious, but the Finnick that I know is rude, funny, caring, concerned, and smart. The same way the real me is selfless, depressed, completely unstable, and vulnerable, opposed to the Capitol's view of me: tough as nails, uncaring, ruthless, and invincible.

I completely zone out the rest of the Reapings except for mine, which goes back quickly and uneventfully. I head back to my room without even a word to the others, and with absolutely nothing else to do, I undress and go to bed.

In the middle of the night there is a knock at my door. Apparently, whoever had been knocking had been doing it for quite some time, because now it was repentant and annoyed. Grudgingly, I pull my sleepy self out from my bed and meander over the door. I open it clumsily to see Haymitch standing impatiently outside in the hallway.

"What the hell to you want?" I ask irritably. This better be important, because frankly I hate being woken up in the middle of the night when I am sound asleep.

"Let's take a walk," he replies and winks at me. Knowing that it must be something good if he can't tell me it here, I follow him. We make our way to the end of the train and out onto a small awning. All that surrounds us is fields of wild grass and flowers that sway mesmerizingly in the night breeze. I curl my toes under me, even though it's not even cold out as a natural reaction.

"So?" I ask.

"How're you holding up?" he inquires.

"Seriously? You woke me up and dragged me out here in the dead of night just to ask how the fuck I'm holding up?"

"Someone's not a morning person," comments Haymitch.

"I am in fact, but three am does not count at morning," I retort.

"That's not what I dragged you out here for," he states.

"Then why as how I'm doing?"

"It's a good icebreaker," he tells me and shoots me a sarcastic smile. What he really means is 'I just wanted to annoy the hell out of you for my own pleasure'. I glare at him and wait for him to continue.

"I want to be sure that you're one-hundred percent committed to keeping Katniss safe," he says.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because I think that if there was time to save either Katniss or Finnick from being killed that you would choose Finnick in a heartbeat," he suggests.

"What makes you think that?" I ask.

"I'm not blind Moore. I see how you two interact at the meetings. I know that you call him almost every day. I saw you two at the Capitol party. It's rather obvious how you feel about him."

"What does that matter?" I inquire, not wanting to talk about Finnick.

"Your job is to protect Katniss at all costs, and it's Finnick's too. And I cannot have you jeopardize all we've been working for just because you have a crush on the Capitol's sex symbol just like every other hormone crazed girl!" he explains sharply.

SMACK!

At his last sentence I slap him across the face. He staggers back rubbing his stinging cheek.

"Don't you ever say that again!" I snap. "You hear me?"

I leave before he can respond, slamming the door behind me. My anger continues to simmer, as I walk back to my room. I slam my door with the same force that I shut the other one and lock it, ensuring that no one can disturb me.

I do not have a crush on Finnick! I can't! I have barely moved on from Thresh, this cannot happen! Haymitch was just saying that to annoy me, he must have.

But was it possible? Could I be falling for Finnick? No, it couldn't be. But then again, why did I get nervous when he called me, why did we react the way we did at the party, and why did it hurt me so much when people referred to him so crudely?

I thought I was going to be able to handle everything this time. I know exactly what is going to happen to me, and just how it is going to happen. But this, this I did not expect. I knew I was going back, that I knew, but did not want this to happen to me again. I couldn't allow it to happen. I did not expect it, I certainly don't need it, and I cannot deal with it. This kind of this was not supposed to happen again.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games or Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**I know it took me for freakin ever to get this out, but I was in no mood during the holidays to write something as unfestive and depressing as the Forgotten Victor, and then right after Christmas I went to Disneyland! But thank you for waiting; I really think that it was worth it. I'm really happy with how this chapter turned out and by the way I did not edit this because it is literally eleven o'clock at night and I'm lazy. Please follow and favorite and review because it makes me smile.**

"Wake up! Today is a big, big day!"

Good God, Effie. I swear if I get out of here I am going to strangle her. Grudgingly, I roll out of bed and walk out to join the others for breakfast. As always, I am the last one to join them. Silently, I sit down and begin to serve myself some juicy pineapple.

"Oh I had this grand idea the other day, and I just had to through with it!" announces Effie, breaking the silence that I was particularly enjoying. "Since Katniss's pin has become such a big fashion trend in the Capitol, I decided to have customized trinkets for all of you with the same emblem."

Reaching into her sparkling purse she withdraws three gold objects and passes them out to us. Haymitch eyes his gold bracelet suspiciously, while Peeta slips his necklace on without hesitation. I examine the gold ring I've been given closely. It has a simple band and a cutout of a mockingjay on the front with a tiny diamond where its eye would be.

While unhooking my necklace, I smile to myself, knowing that this was not Effie's idea. The mockingjay isn't just a fashion trend in the Capitol but also the official unofficial symbol of the rebels. It was originally Cynthia's idea to have all of the rebels in the Games have the mockingjay on them; she thought this would show Katniss who she could trust.

The mockingjay ring hangs around my neck along with my dolphin and Thresh's ring. All of them a different part of me and having them with me comforts me in an odd way. The rings to me show who I really am and no matter how the Capitol changes me they cannot take these away. That thought gives me a little more hope.

No sooner had I finished breakfast and gotten dressed that we arrive in the Capitol. Just like the first time, the citizens of the Capitol scream and cheer for us as we pull up to the Training Center. We exit the train and enter a tunnel of blinding flashes and deafening shrieks. Even though we're only out there for a few seconds at best my eyes have spots of multicolored lights dancing in front of me.

I can understand how these people can heartlessly bet and cheer for tributes when they don't know them, but this time the victors are going in. The Capitol people adore their victors even more than the Districts do, so how can they throw themselves at us shamelessly knowing that we're going to die. Wouldn't any decent person show a little respect to us? Who knows? I'll never be able to comprehend these people, so why even try?

"Claire!" I hear my name and I come out of my daze. Walking towards me is Cynthia. Her hair is pulled back elegantly, and she wears the same tight, black clothes as always. However, I notice a glint of gold on her wrist and recognize that it's her mockingjay.

"Cynthia!" I exclaim. She is the one person in the Capitol whom I can trust completely, which makes it such a relief to see her again. She hugs me briefly, when we meet.

"It's good to see you again," she says, smiling at me.

"You too."

"Let's go get you ready," she announces and leads me away from the others.

Cynthia opens the door to the bare room where I've been dressed so many times before. The bath, mirror, and stylist's chair look as out of place as ever, but it's familiar and gives me a small sense of belonging. The one thing that strikes me as odd, however, is that my prep team is nowhere to be seen.

"Where are the others?" I ask her.

"I put them in charge of Finnick. Every other victor has their original stylist and you and Finnick were the only ones who shared a stylist. They were here during his first Games, and said that they'd take over the job of being his stylist," she explains.

"You honestly trust them?" I ask.

"It was better than having to track down another stylist in such a short amount of time, although I am every bit as worried as you are," Cynthia admits.

"I'll keep my fingers crossed," I joke.

"Let's get started then," Cynthia says. Since it's just the two of us and I am little to no help, the time it takes getting me ready is probably twice as long as the other tributes. My body is waxed, my eyebrows plucked, and my hair is soft and shiny. After all the excruciating prep work, Cynthia goes to get my costume.

I hold my breath in anticipation, waiting for what I'm sure will be amazing enough to even top last year's Woman of Death look. I am not disappointed. The dress is made out of gold silk and puffy black lace. Half-sleeves that begin below my shoulders are embroidered with intricate stiches. But despite all of that, it is the back that is the most incredible. Covering my back is a jeweled spine and ribcage; it will match up perfectly with my spine, and make me even more death like that before.

"It's outstanding!" I exclaim once I'm in it.

"Good, I really put a lot of effort into it," elaborates Cynthia.

"It definitely shows."

If I had assumed that since we got the dress on we were close to finishing I would have been sorely mistaken. Now my face is being covered with creams and powders and God knows what else. My hair is piled on top of my head and teased for ages, until Cynthia's happy with it. During this time I just space out and think about nothing, for there's nothing that I could even imagine that wouldn't make me nervous, confused or depressed. So I suppress my thoughts of the Games, and Finnick, and Logan, and Loretta, and the rebellion, and Katniss, and Peeta, and Iris. Instead I stare at nothing and think of nothing, until Cynthia puts me in front of a mirror.

I do not even remotely recognize myself. My face and neck are covered with a peeling gold paint. My eyelashes are easily twice the length that they were before and curl up. Dark blue-green and black eye shadow coats my eyelid. Cream colored feathers flow with my piled up hair. The hair itself swoops and curls itself around my gold head, and it is flecked with flakes of gold.

Last year I was just terrifying-powerful but terrifying all the same- but this year I am elegant, yet threatening, powerful and intimidating, controlling and radiant.

"This is…I can't even…wow," I stutter, feeling like an idiot.

"Thank you, it's not often one leaves their own model speechless," Cynthia replies.

"Are there any special effects?" I ask. "Or am I already so spectacular that I'll give the audience a heart attack without anything else?"

"Oh you could easily give them a heart attack alone, but this year I want to give them a stroke."

I laugh and shake my head at her. I can't wait to see what she planned.

Just like the year before everyone has already gone out, even Katniss and Peeta. I am rushed to my chariot by a very flustered Effie. The chariot is also black and gold and covered in tiny skulls. Even the skeletal looking horses are shimmering with flakes of gold.

I take a deep breath and the horses pull out into the stadium. Like the year before I do not acknowledge the crowd. I'm better than them and they do not deserve my attention, at least that's what comes to my mind.

All of them watch me just like they did before in silence. Dead silence. A silence that seems to stretch on for eternity, that makes me feel uncomfortable, yet fantastic at the same time. I feel like pure electricity as I soak in the quiet. But before long a cloud of black erupts from beneath me. It startles me, but I keep composure not wanting to show anything to these people but strength and fearlessness.

But it's not a cloud. Not a real one, but a cloud composed of birds. Mockingjays. Genius simply genius. While the mockingjay has been nothing more than a fashion statement in the Capitol, in the Districts it stands for hope, and rescue, and a future. It stands for the rebellion.

And in this moment the birds do not belong to Katniss or the rebellion. They belong to me just like the crowd. In this one moment every single one of them are mine. And I love it.

The same surge of power rushes through me.

The sense of control is intoxicating.

The knowledge that, in this moment, these people do not belong to the Capitol.

In this moment they are completely, undeniably, one-hundred percent, mine.

That makes this feel more powerful than the Capitol, that even its own people belong to me. And if I can control its own people I can control the District with ease.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Catching Fire**

**Rated M for language and violence**

**This chapter is short, sorry. I've been busy, most recently with getting my heart ripped out and stomped on by Jonathan Maberry who wrote the Rot & Ruin books and killed my favorite character, so I haven't been able to write as much as I want to and I've been short on ideas and motivation so leave me a nice review to perk me up please! Once I get into the Games I should post more, but it's taking so goddamn long to get there. Anyway who cares about me, enjoy this chapter. (and as always I didn't edit this)**

"Oh my God!" I shriek at the sight that greets me when I exit my chariot and see the other tributes. Standing before me wearing nothing but a thin net covering a very intimate place is Finnick Odair.

"You look nice too," he jokes, but his cheeks flush profusely.

"What did they do to you?!" I ask.

"I was going to say the same to you," he fires back, "but you do have a point."

"When I put you in charge of dressing him I meant you were to put him in the design I gave you!" screams Cynthia's voice from somewhere else.

"I think it's safe to say that Cynthia is never leaving you alone with them ever again," I tell him.

"Good, I was seriously considering strangling them when I saw myself, but then I remembered I lost my self-respect a long time ago," he comments.

"Come on that's not true."

"I'm glad you think so," he mutters and looks away from me. Sensing something that this is something extremely personal, I change the subject.

"So, um, do you think you could show me how to throw tridents tomorrow, and I could help you with knives," I suggest and add, "since we're going to be allies."

"Yeah, I'd be willing to do that, but I'm not going to guarantee that you'll be able to pick up a trident."

"I can kill you, never forget that," I threaten lightly.

"Trust me, I know," he laughs, and I laugh too.

"Well I'm going to go to bed; I'm exhausted," I announce.

I find myself thinking about the conversation, as I am walking back to my room. Something about it seemed particularly awkward. And it wasn't just because he was half naked. There seemed to be something particularly strained between the two of us. Something too awkward to even be spoken about. It reminded me of how Peeta and Katniss acted when they were together: strained, uncomfortable.

Then it dawns on me. Could it be about what Haymitch said to me? About him claiming that I loved Finnick? Could I really be in love with Finnick? I recall how Thresh and I were together; not once can I recall a moment that was so awkward between the two of us, so how could it be so awkward between Finnick and me?

As I pull my silky, cream colored sheets around me, I decide that it is probably something that I will never be able to figure out. It'll just stay there: another goddamn elephant in the room. Another thing that we don't need, that'll just get in our way.

I thought these games were supposed to be different: organized, planned, but of course, they're just as complicated as the last one. And I cannot afford to have another Game like the last one.

I wake up not feeling very rested at all. Almost all night I tossed and turned. Restless: my thoughts not allowing me to fall asleep and nightmares waking me up as soon as I did. I throw on a simple black shirt and matching black pants. Quickly, I pull my hair up and clasp on my necklace. The three rings bounce reassuringly belong my neck; the quiet clinking sound of them tapping together is at a steady beat and somehow comforts me.

Breakfast is quiet and uneventful, despite Effie's usual attempts of conversation. All of us are too lost in our own thoughts to even remotely care about anyone else's'.

The training room hasn't changed since the last time I was here. The stations are all in the same place and so are the Gamemakers, who observe all of our practice.

The first place that I go to is the knives, since it's the one place where I feel at home. I pick up a knife and am about to throw it, when I remember that this is the exact spot where Thresh and I became allies. It was here when he came up to me and corrected me. It was here where I challenged him. It was here when I beat him, and here when we became my world.

All of those thoughts and feelings send my head spinning. I feel my heart pick up speed and my breathing become quick and shallow. I drop the knife and listen to its clatter when it hits the floor. And I run.

I sprint as fast as my legs will carry me out of the Training Center. I run out and into the elevator, but behind me I hear someone call out me name. Before I can see who it is, the door closes, and I'm alone once again.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

**Rated M for language and eventual violence, sorry you're still going to have to wait for the bloodshed**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Catching Fire…obviously**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it took me for freakin ever to write this, I have been so busy, I mean you have no idea, and even busier times are a coming so I thought I'd get this out when I had the chance. I'm extremely happy with this one and I hope that you are too. It's a little on the short side, sorry. And I would also like to apologize in advance for torturing you.**

**PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!  
**

I find myself on the eleventh floor in the room where Thresh and I had spent so much time together. It's odd that I can bear to be in here, where we first kissed and where he first told me that he loved me, but I can't train where we became allies. I don't understand it. Here is so much intimate and personal, but down there it was more professional and lighthearted. Maybe it was the memory of laughing and having a good time that I can't stand, since everything else is completely fucked up, that made me snap. Just remembering what it was like to be even the slightest bit carefree.

Suddenly there is a knock at the door, pulling me out of my reverie.

"What do you want?" I say, trying to sound strong.

"It's Finnick," a voice replies. "Are you okay? Can I come in?"

I'm not sure I do want him to come in. He's part of the reason I feel the way I do, but it's not his fault, it's mine, so I let him in.

"Hey," he says gently, as he enters the room. "Are you alright? You just bolted out of there, what happened?"

"I just couldn't handle being there," I sigh, despite how confused I am about my feelings towards Finnick, he has a way of just making you feel comfortable, like you can tell him anything. "Everything just reminded me about Thresh, and it was just too much; I guess. I really don't understand what happened."

"It's okay, and you don't have to understand it, things like this never do," he reassures me, and pulls me into a hug. I burry my face into his shoulder. He still smells like the ocean, and just whiff reminds me of the beautiful, calming waves in District 4. I wrap my arms around him and crawl into his lap.

I'm not crying anymore, in fact, I feel better, so much better. Tentatively, his arms wrap around and hold me even tighter. My heart pounds, as though it's about to break out of my chest. With his chest pressed so closely to mine, I can feel that his is beating just as fast.

I lift my head up from his should, and look into his eyes. They're just as green as ever, the small flecks of gold in them shining in the dim light. They look down at me in pity, but also I see pride, and love, and hope. A kind of desperate hoping, that calls out to me, imploring me to do something.

Almost impulsively, I reach my head up, so that it's level with his. I stare into his eyes and he into mine another time. There are just inches between us, and for a moment I want nothing more but to close that small gap between us. But just for a moment.

I lean in closer, and so does he, but before we can close that last tiny space between us, I stop.

"I can't do this," I breathe. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he whispers, pulling away from me. "It's okay."

I slide out of his lap, but I don't break eye contact.

"I'm sorry, but I can't, I just…"I stutter, trying to explain how I feel. I look away from him, feeling completely embarrassed. Only once before in my life have I wanted something so badly, but it is exactly that thing that is keeping me from doing what I want to now. "You have no idea how much I want to, but I just can't, I'm so sorry."

"Claire," he says, almost sounding like exasperated, "It's okay. I promise. I just want us to be friends. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to, I would never make you, I promise."

He lifts my chin up, so I'm looking him in the eye.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Okay," I answer softly, while nodding my head. He pulls me into a gentle, friendly embrace. It doesn't last nearly as long as the last one, but it dissolves the awkwardness almost instantly.

As I pull away, I look up at his eyes once more. The love, pity, and hope are still there, although the hope is not nearly as strong as it was before. Also, there is sorrow, the same sorrow that I saw in his eyes the night we danced with each other at the Capitol's party, the kind of sorrow that comes from loss. But, there's also a kind of regretful sorrow, an almost hopeful one. It's a kind of sorrow that I have never seen before.

I look away before I put myself into the same position I just got out of.

"You think you can go back to training?" Finnick asks carefully.

"I think so," I reply, with a weak smile. He pulls me up from the bed and walks me down to the training center, where we train together for the rest of the day.


End file.
